Danger on the Anduin
by Smeagol Fasir Kenobi
Summary: When a storm strikes on the Anduin River, the Fellowship is separated, and several members are injured. Where will they go? How long can they survive? Will the Ring ever be destroyed? T for violence. They do not spend whole time on the Anduin.
1. An Early Separation

1Disclaimer: I found a way to split up the Fellowship early. I did not find a way to make myself Tolkien. Lord of the Rings is not mine.

"Aragorn!" Boromir called as the wind started to pick up. "Aragorn! We should stop!"

"They'll make it a little further!" Aragorn yelled back over the wind. Boromir wasn't sure if he was referring to the boats or the Hobbits. He couldn't see anything through the rain, but he could feel the boat being tossed mercilessly by the current of the Anduin River.

"I'm taking us ashore," Boromir told Merry and Pippin. Maybe the boats would hold, but the Halflings were cold and wet. "Meet you on shore!" he called to Aragorn.

But the Ranger didn't hear him. The wind and the waves were too loud. "Hold on," he instructed Frodo and Sam. "This is going to get rough."

Meanwhile, farther back, Legolas and Gimli were trying to keep their own boat steady. Suddenly, an arrow came whizzing by from the western bank of the river.

"We'd better get to shore, Lad," Gimli suggested. "We're easy targets in this boat."

Legolas nodded his agreement and started to steer them towards the eastern shore. But fortune was not with them. An arrow hit the Elf just as a large wave struck the side of the boat. Legolas was knocked over the side.

"Lad!" Gimli shouted as his friend landed in the water. He jumped out of the boat. Fortunately, they had been close enough to the eastern bank; the water was shallow, even for a Dwarf. Among complaints about pointy-eared Elves and bad-tasting water, he was able to drag Legolas ashore.

"Legolas," the Dwarf called, but his friend was unconscious, whether from the arrow or the sudden cold water. "Well, things can't possibly get worse," Gimli complained.

He didn't notice the eyes watching them from the trees.

"We'll wait for the storm to pass and then look for the others," Boromir said. "Even Aragorn won't go on too much longer in this weather." The two Hobbits lay down to rest. Boromir took off his cloak and laid it over them.

Suddenly, an arrow flew past, narrowly missing his head. "Merry! Pippin!" he cried. "Get up!" While he was pulling the Halflings to their feet, however, an arrow struck him in the chest. Normally, he wouldn't have collapsed, but he was caught off guard, and when he fell, his head hit a rock.

"His horn!" Merry shouted to Pippin. Boromir had blown it when they left Rivendell, and said help would come at the sound if they were near his homeland. Were they near enough now? Would anyone hear them over the storm? Would help come?

"Aragorn!" Frodo shouted.

"I know." For a second, he had heard a horn, but then the waves had drowned it out. He looked back. He could see nothing through the rain.

When he looked to the front of the boat, however, he suddenly saw a group of rocks, spanning the length of the river. Normally, he would be able to navigate, but in this wind . . .

"Head for shore!" he shouted, hoping the other groups would hear. He looked to the right. They'd never make it to that bank before they crashed into the rocks. They'd have to head for the eastern shore.

Muahahahaha. Everyone's in trouble now. Boromir and Legolas are hurt. Legolas and Gimli are being watched. And that's just the first chapter. Muahahahaha


	2. Unexpected Help

Disclaimer: LOTR is not mine.

Chapter Two

Aragorn got the boat to shore with almost no time to spare. "We'll wait here for the others," he decided.

"But how will they know where to find us?" Sam asked.

"Are they even alive?" Frodo asked. "If that was Boromir's horn . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence. Merry and Pippin were with Boromir. What if they were killed?

"We'll wait until dawn," Aragorn said. "Then we'll continue alone."

Sam was more than happy to stop and finally eat. Even if it was cold and rainy and what they had to eat was mostly lembas bread.

But Frodo was worried. The Elves had said to avoid the eastern shore of the Anduin. And though he did not doubt Aragorn's watchfulness, even a ranger couldn't be awake and alert every minute of every day.

And then there was Gollum. They'd seen him every now and then. What wouldn't that slimy creature try? He looked for the sun to try to guess the time, but then realized his foolishness. The sun didn't show through the thick grey clouds that covered the sky.

"It will be night soon," Aragorn said in answer to Frodo's unasked question. "You should get some rest, you and Sam."

Frodo nodded. "Wake me when you get tired," he said, already knowing full well that the ranger wouldn't. He was probably exhausted already, just like them.

Sam readily took one of the packs and used it as a pillow, also giving one to Frodo. Aragorn leaned back against a tall stone and prepared for a sleepless night.

He didn't need to worry about dosing off; concern for the others would keep him awake. What would happen if they hadn't come by dawn? Or what if one group found them and the other was still missing? Would they want to look for the others instead of immediately continuing the Quest?

And what did he, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, want to do? He told himself it wasn't important what he wanted. What he wanted was to be back in Rivendell with Arwen, or in Lothlorien, or some nameless place in the Wild.

Frodo needed to go to Mordor; everything else was secondary. And he knew he couldn't leave the Hobbits, as much as he wanted to look for the others. He would have to let them find him.

* * *

"Come on, Lad, don't do this to me," Gimli pleaded. "Don't die." He could barely force himself to say the words. Their friendship wasn't very old, it was true, not like the one Legolas and Aragorn shared, but it was beginning to grow, faster than either of them had thought possible. It couldn't end now.

As the Dwarf sat, wondering what to do, a pair of eyes was watching, wondering about such a strange pair. A Dwarf in the armor of the Lonely Mountain and an Elf clad as one of Mirkwood.

Gimli heard a crack in the tree above him. He looked up. A figure jumped to the ground, cloaked and hooded in dark brown. "Who are you?" the figure asked. The voice was low. It had a hint of an Elvish accent, but a deeper accent was unmistakable, and the shortness of the new arrival confirmed Gimli's guess. The stranger was a Dwarf.

"I am Gimli, son of Gloin, of the Dwarves of Erebor. This is Legolas from Mirkwood."

"Then my guess was right." She removed her hood, revealing dark brown eyes and silver hair with a touch of blue. "Your friend needs help -- fast. May I?"

"Yes, of course."

The stranger expertly removed the arrow from Legolas' back and looked the wound over. "It's not fatal," she said, starting to bandage it, "but he's lost a lot of blood. And I think," she added, examining the arrow more closely, "I think it was poisoned."

"What can we do?"

"We have two choices. We can wait until he regains consciousness and go on to wherever you were going and hope the poison is not lethal. Or we can take him to Lothlorien.

* * *

"I don't think anyone's comin', Pip," Merry said, drawing his sword. Five ugly-looking creatures had formed a circle around the two Hobbits and Boromir.

"What are they waitin' for?"

"Maybe they don't think five of them can take on two of us."

"You think they're waitin' for more?"

"I don't know, Pip."

Just then, two figures, cloaked and hooded in green and brown, leapt out of the woods, swords drawn. "For Gondor!" the taller one shouted. The shorter one echoed his cry. They charged the Uruk-Hai.

After a moment, one of the Uruks broke off from the rest of the group. "He's goin' to tell his army about us!" Merry shouted.

That was all the tall stranger needed to hear. Leaving only one Uruk left alive for the others, he raced after the first.

The shorter stranger made short work of his Uruk-Hai. Then he knelt down to examine Boromir. "It can't be," he whispered. "Lord Denethor's son! I should have guessed when Mithnor said he'd heard the horn. But I never thought . . . What were the three of you doing on the Anduin alone?"

"We weren't alone," Merry said. "We were with two other boats. We got separated by the storm."

The stranger nodded. "Too easy to do for those who do not know the river."

"Can you help Boromir?" Pippin asked with his usual innocence.

"I daren't try anything until Mithnor returns. The arrow is too close to vital areas. If I do anything wrong, I could kill him."

****

**

* * *

**

**Muahahahahahahahaha.** Oh, but we don't want to kill him yet. We'll make him suffer first, yes, precious. Yes, we will.

**Iccle Fairy–**Hopefully the dividers between the sections helped with the chaos. I keep forgetting just putting a few blank lines in between doesn't do anything. And I finally figured out that putting little asterixes or however you spell these things doesn't help because they don't stay on. Oh, well. Live and learn, die and forget it all. Just kidding. I _do _believe in Heaven. :) Which may or may not be a good thing for my characters. Muahahahahahahahaha.

**Azla–**Welllll . . . . what's left of them will probably meet up again by the end of the story. Unless I feel like writing a sequel. But right away . . . . well, which group will eventually find Gandalf is still fair game. Does that count?

**LadyLenna–**Oh, yes, something good will happen to all of them before the end. But you have my personal guarantee that they will all have their share of misfortune, as well. Muahahahahahaha.

**Aknightofni–**Quite correct; I have not hurt Gimli. It would have been so much harder for a wave to knock Gimli from the boat than Legolas, so the Elf was the logical choice. (_Ouch, ow, stop it, Daelin. I did _not_ promise I would do this without sounding like a Vulcan. Now let _go!) My apologies for an out-of-control emotional friend of mine. Glad you like cliff-hangers. They aren't going away.

**Setrinan–**I like that. "All is fair in fun and pain." Hmmm. I am having fun and there is more pain to come for them. Sounds good. :)

**Narouki–**More 'poor Legolas' to come, I assure you. But since he seems to be headed for Lothlorien, maybe not immediately. :)


	3. Different Destinations

Disclaimer: LOTR is not mine. Two out of the three strangers are my idea. Which two? I'm not telling yet. Muahahahahahaha.

Chapter Three

There was a rustle in the trees. Pippin turned to see the tall stranger returning, still clutching his sword.

"Mithnor!" the shorter one cried, rushing to support his friend. He was limping and a deep gash in his left side was bleeding badly. The shorter stranger got to him just before he collapsed.

Pippin rushed to help while Merry stayed with Boromir. "I'm all right, Belrond," Mithnor insisted. That was right before he fainted.

"Help me get him back to the others," Belrond instructed. "We should all be together if we're attacked again."

Pippin did as he was told, though they slipped quite a few times on the wet ground. "Find anything we can use as a bandage," Belrond said. He was trying to keep his voice steady, his thinking clear. He removed his cloak and wrapped it around Mithnor's side, his hands still shaky. It was wet and dirty, but it would stop the bleeding.

Now Merry could see that he was only a boy, maybe eleven or twelve, too young to be out here in the wild by himself. What errand had brought the two of them out here? Father and son? Older and younger brother? Mithnor didn't seem too old himself, though hit was hard to tell, for his hood still hid his face.

Mithnor groaned softly. Belrond took his friend's hand. "It's me, Mithnor," he assured him. "I'm here. What happened?"

"I followed . . . the Orc, but . . . I wasn't fast enough. He led me into an ambush. They . . . they know about us. Their camp . . . it isn't far. We . . . we have to leave . . . as soon as we can. Was . . . was I right about . . . the horn? Is it him?"

"Yes, it's Lord Boromir."

"How is he?"

"No worse than you."

"Let me help."

"I'd been waiting for you to come back," Belrond admitted. Pippin came back, bringing his and Merry's packs from the boat. "But I didn't know if you'd be able to do anything, either. How you managed it, I don't know, but you must've broken every bone in your left arm."

"No wonder it hurts to -- Aaaaaah!" He let out a cry of pain as he tried to sit up. He ran his hand over the thin cloak bandage on his side. "You might've mentioned I broke a few ribs in the process."

"I didn't notice; I was too busy trying to save your life."

After running the conversation through his head again, Merry figured these two were probably pretty close, even though Belrond seemed a good deal younger. Something stronger than years had given them a common bond.

Belrond helped his friend sit up. Carefully, Mithnor removed the arrow from Boromir's chest and bandaged his wound. His work was both confident and gentle. And his hands were steady, even in the freezing rain and even though he used his left hand as little as possible because of the pain.

Then he examined the arrow carefully. "No wonder," he sighed.

"No wonder what?" Pippin asked, a little worried by the concern in Mithnor's voice.

"Poison," he said, not hesitant about his finding at all. "I was wondering why he hadn't regained consciousness."

"Can you do anything?" Belrond asked.

"Not here. The plants I need grown in Ithilien."

"Where's that?" Pippin asked.

"Gondor. And we'll have to get there fast."

* * *

Lothlorien. Gimli's heart leapt at the thought of seeing that land again, of seeing the Lady Galadriel again.

"But how do you know about Lothlorien?" he asked. "You're a Dwarf."

"As are you."

Gimli only nodded. How could he explain why the Elves had permitted them to enter Lothlorien without mentioning their Quest?

"I'm a close friend of Lord Elrond of Rivendell," the stranger said, noticing Gimli's reluctance. "When I was very young, I was taken prisoner by a small band of Orcs. Everyone, including my brother, assumed I was dead. An Elf named Glorfindel saved me and brought me to Rivendell. The Elves treated me as one of their own; I have leave to roam freely in and out of any of their lands."

"Did you ever return to your family?"

"Yes, but I never told them who I was, and they did not recognize me. Time with the Elves had changed me."

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"I have my own reasons, Gimli, son of Gloin, just as you have your reasons for not telling me how you know of Lorien, or what you were doing on the Anduin River with and Elf of Mirkwood."

Gimli was about to point out that they were two entirely different situations when he felt Legolas' hand close around his. "Lad!" he practically shouted.

"Gimli, who is this?" Legolas asked, as observant as ever.

"Um . . . she didn't tell me her name."

"Thiris," the Dwarf answered with a laugh.

"Legolas," the Elf said.

"Prince of Mirkwood?"

"Yes. And unless my memory fails me, Thiris, I am not the only one here with royal blood in my veins."

* * *

Aragorn stared off into the darkness. The rain was beginning to subside.

But his anger at himself wasn't. _'None of this would've happened if you'd listened to Boromir,' _he told himself. _'Or if you'd paid more attention to the river and less to a horn you couldn't do anything to answer.'_

He wished, fruitlessly, that Gandalf was there. The Wizard would know what to do -- wait for the others or press on. Gandalf would've waited for Legolas and Gimli on the River. How far behind had they been?

What had made him want to keep going? He was in no hurry to split the Fellowship between those who would go to Gondor's aid and those who would continue on to Mordor. And he was in no rush to come to Gondor and be their king.

_'Well, now you may never get the chance,' _he said to himself. He had to go with Frodo to Mordor. Gondor would have to wait.

Which Aragorn actually regretted somewhat. The city needed help. And so long as he didn't have to be a king or a leader, he had no problem with giving them help.

But it was a little too late for that.

* * *

Muahahahaha. Seems a little too late to do anything, doesn't it, Aragorn? Don't worry; you're with Frodo and Sam – eventually, you have to do _something _or this story will get pretty boring. :)

**SirNotAppearingInThisFilm–**Yes, poor Pippin. Um . . . . I'm going for mental torture with Frodo's group. Having all the groups get attacked didn't seem like too good an idea. Even Tolkien didn't want to play around with that idea.

**Setrinan–**Yes, indeed, who _is _she? Hmmmmmm. About the Gimli/Thiris pairoff . . . . I'm not real into romance, but if it doesn't get too mushy, I might try it . . . eventually. Right now, they have more important things to worry about, don't they?

**Iccle Fairy–**Yes, that's one way of putting it, though they may turn out to be more than 'random peeps.' :)

**Shallindra–**Hmmm . . . . keep Boromir alive. Well, for the moment, he is still alive, but there are more surprises to come. Muahahahahaha.

**Lady Lenna–**Very, very close with the Elven Dwarf idea. Yes, poor Legolas. And will they even ever make it to Lothlorien? But I _do _eventually want to bring Gandalf into the story, and it doesn't look like any of them are going to Fangorn.


	4. An Unexpected Turn

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine. The Anduin River is not mine.

* * *

Chapter Four

Thiris only nodded in response to Legolas' statement. "Can you walk?" she asked, purposely changing the subject.

"Yes. Where are we going?"

"We have to get you back to Lothlorien," Gimli answered, "but we'll have to make it fast. All our food got lost with the boat."

Thiris shrugged casually. "There are ways of finding food in the wild." Legolas nodded his agreement. Something about this Dwarf wasn't so Dwarf-like. Something that reminded the Elf of Aragorn.

The two Dwarves helped Legolas to his feet. "It'll be slippery along the bank in this rain," Thiris warned, "but we'll be less likely to run into Orcs. We all need to stay _very_ close together. Orcs aren't the only thing we need to worry about."

"What do you mean?"

"I noticed a creature in the water a few moments ago."

"Gollum," Legolas nodded. "We shouldn't have any trouble from him. It's not us he's after."

"Then you are not alone."

"We were with six others."

"Dwarves? Elves?"

"None of either. Two humans and four Hobbits."

"Hobbits?"

"Yes. They're about --"

"I know what Hobbits are."

"I should've guessed."

"Yes, you should've. But what brings _four_ of them so far from the Shire?" There was an awkward silence that was finally broken by Legolas almost collapsing. "Take my hand," Thiris instructed.

Legolas did, and a sudden warmth coursed through his body. His breathing became steadier and his eyesight cleared. "What did you do?" he asked, releasing the Dwarf's hand.

Thiris smiled and removed the glove from her hand, revealing a ring with a dark green stone. "Nay, not one of the Rings of Power," she said in answer to the question in Legolas' eyes. "A gift from Lord Elrond. We are close to Lothlorien, so its power is strengthened. But the magic of the Elves is waning. I do not know how long its effects will last, Legolas. We should reach the land of the Lady as soon as we can."

Legolas smiled. He had absolutely no objection to _that._

* * *

"How fast is fast?" Belrond asked Mithnor. "Shouldn't we rest here for the night?"

"No. We can't stay anywhere long. The Orcs, or whatever foul breed of creature attacked us, will find us if we do."

"How far do we have to go?"

"At least as far as Cair Andros before I can find what I need."

"Cair Andros! Have you lost your mind? That's at best a three-day journey by boat!"

"Oi, and we only have one boat," Pippin added, "and we won't all fit in it."

"We will have to," Mithnor said evenly. "If we stay on shore, we're easy prey."

"You _are_ mad!" Belrond exclaimed. "The boat will sink!"

"If tales are true, the boats of Lorien do not sink."

"What makes you think . . . ?"

"Where else would they be coming from with cloaks clearly made by the Elves?"

"Are you an Elf?" Pippin asked.

"Hardly," Mithnor laughed. "But I never learned _your_ names, my friends, nor where you came from."

"Merry and Pippin, from the Shire," Merry said, "but how do you expect to fit all of us in that boat?"

"How many oars do you have?" Mithnor asked.

"Are you tryin' to change the subject?"

"Yes. How many?"

"Two."

"Good." Just then, something caught his eye. A second boat was floating, or, rather, being tossed, down the river. "Belrond?"

"On it, Captain." He rushed towards the river.

"Captain?" Merry asked. Mithnor gave no answer. "Still, a journey of three days?" Merry asked. "Will Boromir . . ."

"Belrond forgot to count on one thing when he gave us that number. He assumed we would be stopping. We won't."

"What?" Pippin half-shouted. This man _was_ crazy.

Just then, Belrond returned. "The boat came right to shore," he reported. "It's perfectly in tact."

"A gift from the Valar," Mithnor sighed with relief. "Oars?"

"None."

"Then it's good that we have two."

"Um . . . how do you plan on not stopping?" Pippin asked.

"You _are_ capable of sleeping in a boat?"

"I never tried."

"Here's your chance. Pippin, you're with me. Merry, you'll ride with Belrond and Boromir. I wouldn't split you up, but we'll need two people capable of rowing in each boat. Boromir is obviously not."

"Neither are you," Belrond objected, "and these two are tired."

"Which is why they're going to sleep in the boats." He tried to stand, but collapsed, clutching his side and breathing hard.

"Mithnor," Belrond said firmly. "Your plan _won't_ work."

Mithnor looked around. "You're right," he said reluctantly. "We're surrounded."

* * *

Aragorn suddenly looked out to the river. He'd heard a splash, if that was possible over the rain, and what he thought was a hiss.

"Gollum," he muttered to himself. Curse the creature for his bad timing.

"Strider?" asked Frodo.

"Frodo! You should be asleep."

"I couldn't. I keep worrying about the others, about Merry and Pippin."

"Boromir is with them."

"If he hasn't been killed." Frodo was surprised to hear himself say it out loud. "If they don't find us . . . Aragorn, I know the Ring must do to Mordor, but I can't leave them!"

"We'll decide what to do in the morning."

"Not if you're completely dead from exhaustion, we won't."

"Very well; wake me in an hour. Or if you see anything."

"I will."

* * *

"What should we do?" Merry asked, not completely sure who he was asking.

"There's only one thing left to do," Belrond said. He rose, but drew no weapon. "We surrender!" he called out into the darkness.

* * *

Muahahahahaha. Hmm. What will the Uruk-Hai do, hm? No one's ever offered to surrender to them before. Muahahahahahaha.

**Boromir–**Oh, don't worry, I have no intention of stopping. I'm having too much fun torturing everyone to stop. :)

**SirNotAppearingInThisFilm–**Muahahahaha, yes, torture for no reason (evil grin) And there's more to come. :)

**Iccle Fairy–**Yes, I always love messing around with royalty (which explains why I like to torture Legolas) Hannon le.

**Lady Lenna–**Well, they might _eventually _make it to Fangorn. Whether or not Legolas will be alive to go crazy about the trees when they do . . . well, we'll see.


	5. Shadows of NIght

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I do not own the Uruk-Hai. Nor would I ever _want _to own the Uruk-Hai. :)

Chapter Five

Now it was Frodo's turn to stare out into the darkness, waiting, wishing for Merry and Pippin, or Gandalf, or a sign that the other groups had survived.

But he received none, no answer but the gradual slowing of the rain. The sun was gone, and whatever moon and stars may have been in they sky were covered by clouds. It was pitch black.

Then suddenly he saw them, all around him in the dark. Pippin was complaining that he was hungry. Merry was trying to sneak an apple from Aragorn's pack while Boromir distracted the ranger with stories of Gondor. Gimli was asleep, snoring, and Legolas was trying to block the sound. Gandalf was blowing smoke-rings. Gandalf?

That was when Frodo realized it was a dream. His eyes flew open, and he saw two eyes staring back in the darkness.

"Strider!" he yelled. The ranger was awake at once, but the eyes were gone.

"What is it, Frodo?" Aragorn asked urgently.

"I saw . . . I thought I saw . . . but it couldn't have been a dream . . . they eyes . . ."

"Come. We shall stay awake together." He put an arm around the Hobbit's back and took Frodo's small hand in his own rough one. "You're safe, Frodo," he said gently. Within minutes, Frodo's eyes closed. Aragorn smiled. Now he was sure they had to press on to Mordor. The sooner the Ring was destroyed and his small friend was free of his burden, the better.

* * *

"We are the fighting Uruk-Hai of Isengard," a gruff voice objected. "We do not accept surrender. We destroy."

"Isengard," Mithnor whispered. "This is Saruman's doing, then. Belrond?"

"I'll do what I can," the boy answered his friend quietly. Then, to the darkness again, "Then your master did not know that we are accompanied by the King and the Steward of Gondor."

Pippin looked confused, but Merry could tell what Belrond was doing. These creatures probably hadn't been told that Gondor didn't _have_ a king – yet.

"Traitor!" Mithnor shouted with a roughness that surprised everyone, even Belrond. No one would've known his was the voice of a wounded man. "You would betray your people!?!?"

"Anyone can lose a battle," Belrond spat back. "It takes a true leader to realize when a fight is hopeless." He turned again to the darkness. "My lord steward is not as sensible as I. But if there is any secret you wish to know, it lies in him and my king."

"Then why should we not take one and kill the other?"

"Because both are badly wounded. Either of them, alone, would die for sure before you could reach Isengard. But if one is alive, the other will keep living for the sake of his friend."

"And you will come willingly?"

"I? Yes. They will not, but, as I mentioned before, they are wounded badly and will not be able to put up much of a fight. And my kin, Merry and Pippin here, are no great fighters."

"But the two of them killed four of our scout group."

Belrond laughed. "We _saved _them. They could never have survived a fight with four of your scouts." Belrond knew he was taking a chance, but based on what he'd heard from Mithnor, a reasonable one. Saruman would want the Halflings, or, at least, one of them.

"Coward!" Mithnor shouted. He jumped to his feet, knowing the sudden effort and the pain would make him faint. He collapsed to the ground.

"Mithnor!" Pippin shouted. He and Merry rushed to the man's side. The Uruk-Hai came up from behind them and knocked them unconscious while they were distracted.

"Surrender accepted," the rough voice said. Then, to his soldiers, "Bind them. We leave for Isengard at dawn."

Belrond, true to his word, put up no objection as the Uruks roughly tied his hands together. His plan had worked; they were all alive. But for how long? If they ever made it to Isengard, what then? Saruman would not be so easily fooled into thinking Boromir was the King of Gondor, or that he, clad in the armor of the City, was a Hobbit. They would have to escape before then. But with Boromir and Mithnor both seriously hurt, escape would not be easy, if it was even possible.

* * *

"Maybe we should stop now, Lad," Gimli suggested.

"No; we can keep this up a little longer," Legolas insisted.

Gimli discreetly nodded at Thiris. The Dwarf let out a cry of pain as she almost collapsed.

"What is it?" Legolas asked worriedly.

"It's nothing," Thiris insisted.

"Maybe we _should_ stop," Legolas agreed.

"If we can . . . for a while."

"We'll be able to see a path better in the daylight, anyway."

"That's right, Laddie," Gimli readily agreed. He winked at Thiris, who smiled back weakly as they lay down to sleep.

* * *

Yes, I know, I know, the chapter was short, but that was a good place to end it, everyone going to sleep. Which means I can start the next chapter with everyone waking up and we'll all be on the same page and I won't have a bunch of confusing timelines going where one group is two weeks ahead of another. :) Okay, just thought I'd explain my reasoning.

**Lady Lenna–**Yess, Preciousssss, obsssssesssssive crazy. Obsssssssesssssssed!

**Azla–**Yessss, wonder about the dwarf-elf all you want. :) It won't make me tell you anything any faster. Even more to wonder about now, huh? Muahahahahaha.

**Cindy–**What? Some people think Boromir is evil? Let me at 'em, let me at 'em. Of course, I don't even think Denethor's evil, so I shouldn't really talk. But, no, he is not going to die yet, considering the Uruks have just accepted their surrender. Hmmm. How long will he last? Muahahahahaha. And while we're talking about spelling and grammar and punctuation and such, do you know what the present tense of wrought is? That one's been driving me nuts all day!


	6. Dawn

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine. Couldn't think of any more stupid jokes to make about that fact.

Chapter Six

"To your feet, prisoner!" one of the Uruks shouted close to Pippin's ear. Pippin was about to protest that they hadn't eaten breakfast yet, but then thought better of it. The Uruk-Hai might decide to eat _him _for breakfast if he suggested anything.

The young Hobbit could see Belrond debating with their leader, an ugly thing with a white hand upside-down on his face and a bow ready in hand.

The boy was as skillful as the night before. "I may be able to keep up with you on foot, but the others won't. The other Halflings are too unused to running great distances, and I shouldn't have to remind you that the Gondorians are wounded."

"They will keep up or they will die."

"You would lose a great prize."

"And a greater nuisance. Wake them, soldiers."

One of the Uruk-Hai gave Boromir a sharp kick in the side. To Pippin's surprise, the Human's eyes flashed open. "Merry! Pippin!" he shouted.

"We're over here!"

"What in Middle-Earth . . . ?"

"You have been made our prisoners," the ugly leader informed the surprised human.

_'Since when do Orcs take prisoners?' _Boromir wondered as he looked around. A small boy and a human, still asleep or worse, cloaked and hooded and facing the other way, in addition to the two Halflings. Boromir tried not to look surprised when he took a longer look at the boy.

"Stand," the Uruk-Hai ordered Boromir. Boromir just stayed still, a defiant look in his eyes. "Stand or we kill your friends." The Uruk-Hai pointed his bow at Pippin. Boromir struggled to his feet.

"Leave them alone," Boromir insisted. "I'm the one you want."

"Then the Halfling was telling the truth."

Boromir was too hurt and too tired to care which of the Halflings had told the Uruks anything. His gaze turned again to the other man. He was just beginning to wonder if he might be dead when an Uruk-Hai went up to him and kicked him roughly.

Mithnor groaned and clutched his side, which had started to bleed again, thanks to the Uruk-Hai. The Uruk roughly pulled him to his feet. "Move," he ordered.

The sudden pull _didn't_ help Mithnor's arm. Between that and the pain in his side and loss of blood, he felt like he was going to collapse.

Though the man's face was hidden, Boromir could tell this, as well. He was about to offer his help, but an Uruk-Hai grabbed him.

Mithnor noticed. "I'm all right," he insisted in a deeper voice than the Hobbits had heard him use before, as if he was trying to hide who he was. It worked. Boromir couldn't place the voice, though he was sure he had heard it before. But the man had said so little, and his head hurt too much to recognize anything, much less a voice that had only said three words.

Mithnor realized it had worked and smiled inwardly. Then, with a composure that surprised Boromir, took his place by the Hobbits. Boromir joined them, greatly impressed by the man's silent courage.

"Who are you?" he asked the stranger.

"He's delirious," Mithnor explained when the Uruk-Hai gave him a questioning look. It was close enough to the truth, he realized, or else Boromir would have recognized him. Then, to Boromir, he said, "I'm Mithnor. Don't ask any more; save your strength. You'll need it."

* * *

Aragorn gave Frodo a gentle shake. The Ringbearer blinked a few times and sat up straight. "You've been awake all night?"

The ranger nodded, but his face was grim. He'd delayed waking the Hobbits because he'd hoped the others would come. Now they would have to go on alone.

"Let's have something to eat first," Frodo suggested, as if reading Aragorn's expression.

"That reminds me," Aragorn said with a hint of a smile, producing a string of fish from behind his back. "I believe Sam will know what to do with these."

Frodo broke into a grin. "He will, indeed. Sam, wake up." He gave his friend a shake.

"What is it, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked in a tired voice. Then he saw the fish, and his smile spread even wider than Frodo's. "Where did these come from?"

Frodo pointed at Aragorn. Aragorn pointed at his sword. "It's good for things other than fighting," he shrugged. "I was awake, anyway. Catching breakfast was the least I could do. I don't think you'll be able to start much of a fire, though. All the wood's wet."

"You mean . . . eat 'em raw?"

"Unless you have some magic that instantly dries wood, yes."

Sam sighed. "I guess I'll have to do what I can."

'What he could' ended up including chopping the fish up, putting some water from the river into a pot, adding anything he could find that looked edible and Aragorn said wasn't poisonous, and calling it cold fish soup. Aragorn ate it gratefully, and Frodo and Sam, too, ate all they could, if only for a change from lembas bread.

"We should move on," Aragorn said at last, reluctantly. "We'll follow the river to Rauros, but we should go back to the western shore tonight. This is only the third day since we left Lothlorien; we have a ways to go before the falls."

Frodo knew Aragorn was trying to explain why he wasn't planning too far ahead. In truth, Aragorn hoped another group would find them and help with the decision, so that they _could_ go to Mordor and still send someone to help Gondor.

The ranger helped Frodo and Sam into the boat. Then he got in and pushed off from the shore with his oar. But though his body was rested from the night, his mind was not. And the monotonous rhythm of paddling gave his mind time to wander . . .

* * *

"Legolas, Gimli, wake up," Thiris beckoned. Gimli mumbled something in Dwarvish and turned over. Thiris smiled a little at his comment and decided to try the Elf instead.

To her surprise, Legolas gave no sign of hearing her. She gave him a slight shake. Still, he gave no response.

"Gimli! We have to get going! Legolas is in trouble!" she shouted in Gimli's ear. _That _woke the Dwarf up.

"What can we do?" Gimli asked.

"We'll have to carry him."

"All the way to Lothlorien? Will he make it?"

"He'll have to. There's no other way."

"We should never have stopped."

"Continuing would only have made it worse."

"Well, if we're going to get moving, let's get moving."

"Agreed."

* * *

High overhead, three figures circled the morning sky. Two were as one -- mount and rider.

The rider spotted Gimli and Thiris carrying Legolas. With a signal, the three of them flew down from the sky.

But were they friends or enemies?

* * *

Muahahahaha. Suspense. I love suspense.

**Cindy–**So _this _is how other people feel when I try to explain chaos theory. I get it now. :)

**Iccle Fairy–**Yeah, I try not to get too confusing. Unfortunately, that means if one group is doing something really interesting and the other groups are just sitting there, I have to write about a lot of people just sitting there because I don't want to confuse the days and stuff. Which is the reason for most of the flashback stuff with Frodo and Aragorn. :)


	7. Secrets, Memories, and Hopes

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine. :)

Chapter Seven

* * *

"Gimli, look!" Thiris shouted as two eagles landed close by. A man, or at least a being taller than a Dwarf, dismounted from the larger of the birds.

Once he removed his hood, Gimli knew the man was really a Wizard, one of the Istari, and, as he wore brown as opposed to white, probably a friend.

There was no 'probably' in Thiris' mind. "Radagast!" she called. Gently setting Legolas down, she rushed over and embraced the Wizard.

"Thiris," he smiled, returning the gesture willingly. "What brings you here?"

"I could ask the same thing, but I won't. We need help. If you and your friends would be kind enough to take us to Lothlorien . . ."

"Certainly. I'm sure they would be glad to help the –"

"Ssssh." She gestured towards Gimli, whispering,"He doesn't know."

"Why, Thiris, I'd assumed you'd told him."

"Told me _what?!?_" Gimli demanded.

"I'll tell you everything later," Thiris assured him. "Or Radagast will. Gimli: Radagast. Radagast: Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas of Mirkwood."

"I suppose that's a friendship that can be explained later," Radagast shrugged.

"Indeed," Thiris nodded.

"Climb on," Radagast invited.

Thiris expertly scrambled up onto an eagle's back as Radagast mounted the other. She then helped a nervous-looking Gimli up. Radagast's eagle took Legolas gently in one of its talons and used the other to lift off.

If not for the circumstances, Thiris would've greatly enjoyed the ride in the fresh air. They stayed close to the ground, but Gimli kept his eyes closed. "So how do you know Radagast?" he asked at last.

"Well, like I said, I have leave to wander where I like. I've met up with him occasionally on my way through Mirkwood."

"Had you met Legolas before?"

"Only briefly. But he recognized me, pointy-eared princeling that he is."

Gimli nodded his agreement. "Exactly."

* * *

"We can follow the River Limlight to Fangorn Forest. Then we should head west along the border of the forest. At best, we will reach Isengard in three days," Belrond explained. "That is, unless you plan to go _through_ Fangorn, which I wouldn't advise. There is a power that lies dormant in those woods; to wake it would be an unnecessary risk. At most, it would save only five or six hours."

The Uruk leader nodded. "We will not be stopping," he reminded the boy.

"So I assumed. But we can only go without rest for so long. I would suggest a one-hour stop after five hours' travel. That should be sufficient."

Boromir just stared at the boy, wondering if he was mad or simply an idiot. The Hobbits would never be able to keep up a fast pace for five hours straight!

The Uruks signaled to the others to get moving. Belrond kept near the front, ahead of all but their leader. Merry and Pippin tired hard to keep up, mostly because they didn't want to get poked in the back by the sword of the Uruk-Hai directly behind them. As much as Boromir tried to keep an eye on the Halflings, the poison was beginning to affect him. Mithnor noticed and moved over alongside him.

"Don't focus on running," he suggested. "Listen inward. Can you hear your heartbeat? Focus on that. Calm it. Breathe. Move your legs to that rhythm. There. Now don't speed up. They'll only push you harder. Try to relax." (A/N: It works; it really does, trust me; I tried it.)

After a moment, Boromir managed a small smile. "Where did you learn that?"

"A friend named Mithrandir."

"That's Elvish, isn't it."

"'Grey Pilgrim.' You might know him better as Gandalf."

"Yes . . . he was our leader."

"Was?"

Boromir nodded slowly. "He fell in Moria."

For a moment, Mithnor fell out of rhythm from shock. "How?" His voice had, for an instant, dropped its disguise, and Boromir thought he heard something familiar, but his head was pounding and his ears were ringing, so he couldn't be sure of any sound.

"A Balrog," he answered. "Please . . . don't mention it around Pippin. I know he blames himself."

Mithnor nodded, but his mind was spinning with questions. What had led this group through Moria instead of a safer route? Had they been on their way to Gondor? To Rohan? Where?

"You have been through an Elven land," he said at last. "Is it possible that Men are now permitted to pass through Lothlorien?"

"How did you know?"

"Your cloaks. They are clearly of Elven design. But how is it that no Elves accompanied you?"

Boromir was about to answer when his vision suddenly blacked out. He tripped over a tree root and fell, barely breaking his fall with his tied hands. "Boromir!" Mithnor shouted, and ran back to him. The Uruk-Hai all stopped, as well, swords pointed in at the fallen Gondorian and the man kneeling next to him.

Merry and Pippin, out of breath from running, stopped, still gasping for breath. Belrond rushed back to the two men.

"I'll be okay," Boromir insisted. He tried to stand, but he couldn't move his legs. "What's happening?" he asked weakly.

"The poison's spreading," Mithnor said reluctantly. "Belrond?"

"There's nothing I can do."

"Will he live?"

"I don't know." He turned to the Uruk-Hai. I warned you this might happen. These two halflings are exhausted and our king can't move. At this rate, they'll all die long before we reach Isengard."

"Pick them up, boys," the leader ordered. "We continue." One Uruk hoisted Boromir onto his shoulders and two others carried Merry and Pippin on their backs.

"How're you doing, Mithnor?" Belrond asked.

"Doesn't look like I get a break."

"I guess not."

"I'll survive."

Belrond nodded, wishing he was as sure.

* * *

_"Take some rest. These borders are well-guarded,"_ he had advised Boromir, trying to sound as casual as possible. He was able to relax more easily in Lorien than any day since they'd left Rivendell.

_"I will find no rest here. I heard her voice inside my head." _Aragorn hadn't been very surprised. Sometimes he was sure Galadriel was telepathic. _"She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor."_ What _was_ Boromir's father doing? And he'd mentioned a brother, Faramir, occasionally. Did the two of them have things taken care of in Gondor? Or had they given up? _"She said to me, 'Even now, there is hope left,' but I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." _Aragorn had sat down next to Boromir. _"My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing, and our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right, and I, I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored." _Would Boromir ever get his chance now? Was he still alive? Was it foolishness to hope he would somehow find his way to Gondor?

_"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn?"_ Boromir had asked. His voice was different now, almost as if in a dream. His heart longed for his homeland, even as Aragorn's longed for Rivendell. _"The white tower of Ecthalion glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze? Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"_

He could almost hear them now, calling from afar. Would anyone come looking for Boromir if he was long delayed? What would they find?

_"I have seen the white city, long ago."_ But he had never seen it quite as Boromir described it, all in glory and splendor. Maybe someday he would.

_"One day, our paths will lead us there, and the tower guard shall take up the call that the lords of Gondor have returned." _Lords of Gondor. Boromir had accepted him as an equal, at least, which was all Aragorn had wanted in the first place. He didn't want to be king. And he hadn't wanted to go to Gondor. He'd just wanted to be a ranger, one of many unknown warriors, forever.

"Strider?" Sam asked, startling him out of the memory. "Do you think the others are alive?"

The ranger stopped paddling for a moment. The question hadn't been, 'Should we look for the others?' or 'Do you think the others will find us?'

Did he think they were alive? Merry and Pippin, the mischief-makers and the innocence of the Shire? Legolas, one of his oldest friends, with whom he had shared so many dangers? Gimli, whose stubborn determination and courage Aragorn had come to admire? Boromir, the most human member of their Fellowship, with both human weakness and human strength? Could they have survived whatever danger had befallen them?

"Yes," Aragorn said at last. "Maybe it's foolish hope, Sam, but I have to believe they're alive."

* * *

**SNAITF–**Saxaphone, huh? Cool. :)

**Iccle Fairy–**Well, this cliffie's not as evil, but we still don't know what's going to happen with the others. Muahahahahaha.


	8. Lothlorien

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine.

* * *

Chapter Eight

"Find Galadriel and take us down," Radagast said. His eagle squawked. "Yes, I know that will probably take us directly to Caras Galadhon. Just do it. The Lady will forgive an unexpected landing by old friends."

Thiris sighed. Etiquette was not one of Radagast's strong points. She almost laughed imagining what her brother would have to say.

The eagles flew down, right in front of a figure standing alone, arms outstretched in a gesture of greeting. The eagle set Legolas down gently and let his passenger get off. Gimli and Thiris climbed down off the other.

"My Lady Galadriel," Radagast said with a deep bow. The two Dwarves bowed, as well.

"Welcome back, Gimli," Galadriel said kindly. "Welcome, Thiris. And welcome, Radagast. It has been long."

"Too long, my Lady. And it was almost longer. If not for some ill fortune that befell this Elf, I would have had no need to come here. But ill fortune works for the greater good, it is said."

Galadriel joined Gimli by Legolas. "We shall do what we can," she assured him, placing her hind in his. "Be at peace. Merely being here may be enough to save him. But come, tell me what happened."

So Gimli told her everything. "My Lady," he said when he had finished. "Can you see what has happened to the others?"

Galadriel smiled warmly. "Come with me, you and Thiris. Radagast, stay here until the healers come. Unless there is aught you wish to see."

"Nay, Lady, what I wish to see, your mirror will not show, for it is impossible."

"Never stop hoping, Radagast."

"There are some things that are useless to hope for, my Lady, for even the magic of the Elves cannot bring back the dead."

There was silence for a moment. Galadriel stood to leave. Gimli and Thiris rose, as well. Thiris lingered a moment by Radagast's side.

"Gandalf?" she asked.

The Wizard nodded. "Her mirror shows the past, but I wish the vision to be real. Since Saruman has turned, Middle-Earth needs his guidance and his wisdom, not his memory."

Thiris turned to go, but then paused and looked back. "I understand," she said quietly, "Child of the kindly West."

Radagast nodded. "I know you do."

* * *

"Merry?" Pippin called from his Uruk-Hai.

"What?"

"You don't suppose they'll stop for breakfast, do you?"

"Not for another five hours or so."

"At least we don't have to run."

"Try to get some rest, Pip. I know you didn't sleep much last night."

"I can never sleep when I'm hungry."

Belrond, close by, smiled. They hadn't brought any supplies.

Merry sighed. Pippin's good-natured humor couldn't be stopped. He knew his friend would never stop hoping the others would come looking for them.

But Merry wasn't so sure. One of the boats from Lorien _had_ washed up on the riverbank. Legolas and Gimli had been the ones behind them. What could have happened to force them to abandon their boat?

And what of Frodo, Sam, and Aragorn? How far ahead were they? Had they stopped?_'No,'_ Merry told himself. Frodo would continue the Quest, and Sam would go with him. And Strider? _'If by my life or death I can protect you, I will,' _he had told Frodo. He wouldn't back down now.

So they had almost no hope of a rescue, and almost no hope of escape. Merry finally fell asleep, wondering which of the shapes in the distance beyond the hills and the plains was Isengard.

* * *

Thiris finally caught up with Gimli and Galadriel near a strange-looking bowl of water. She understood immediately.

"I'm sure Gimli wouldn't mind a glimpse of our own people back at Erebor first," Thiris suggested. Galadriel looked uncertain for a moment, but then nodded. Gimli smiled and joined Thiris in peering over the edge of the bowl. Thiris had had a hunch that whatever had happened to Gimli's companions might be unpleasant, and hoped that a look at something else first might soften the blow.

At first, the two Dwarves could see only the reflections of the trees and the sun. Then, slowly, the light dimmed, and a battlefield appeared. Figures hidden by shadow fought. Then, suddenly, a horn sounded, clear and loud. A dozen or so Dwarves in the armor of Erebor rushed out onto the plain. Gimli recognized one as his father, Gloin. Then, all at once, a spear, its end coated in blood, got larger and larger, as if it were going to fly out of the mirror. Thiris staggered backwards as though struck and collapsed.

"Thiris!" It was the closest Gimli had ever come to hearing Galadriel yell. The image faded instantly, not that anyone noticed. Thiris lay flat on the ground, clutching her chest as though in great pain.

Gimli was confused. What could have made the vision so real that it could actually seem to physically hurt her? Battles were not unfamiliar to either of them, and spears were common enough weapons among Orcs and Goblins.

Goblins. At once, the answer hit him. No wonder Gimli's father had been in the vision. No wonder it hurt Thiris so much to see it happen -- again.

* * *

Muahahahahaha. Yes, that does mean you will find out next chapter who Thiris is. If you haven't already figured it out.

**Iccle Fairy – **Yes, poor Boromir. That's why I decided to gie him a break in this chapter. (pause) Poor Merry and Pippin.


	9. A Mystery Solved

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine. As you will soon find out, Thiris was my idea. Actually an idea I had a couple of years ago but never went beyond the idea stage until now. So here she is. And I'll stop that before I end up telling you _who _she is.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Legolas slowly blinked his eyes open. "Lad!" Gimli shouted. "You're all right!"

"My ears aren't anymore, you loud Dwarf," the Elf sighed. "Did we . . ."

"Aye, Lad. We're in Lothlorien, which is why you're still alive."

"Where's Thiris?"

Gimli sighed. In the five hours since they'd looked into Galadriel's mirror, Thiris still hadn't regained consciousness. Galadriel had no doubt that she would, but she would be weak for a few hours.

"Um . . . . we had a little problem," the Dwarf admitted. "Come on; I'll take you to Lady Galadriel. She'll be able to explain everything better. Can you walk?"

"I think so. Just being here has helped, a lot. Thank you, Gimli. Let's go."

* * *

Mithnor shielded his eyes from the early afternoon sun as the Uruks finally allowed them to stop; it would have been easier to do if his hands hadn't been tied. The exhausted Gondorian fought to remain standing, but his legs didn't agree. It was all he could do to keep from passing out as he collapsed to the ground.

Merry, Pippin, and Boromir were dumped roughly on the ground next to him. The jolt woke both Hobbits.

Mithnor glanced up at Belrond. He was the only one who could tell the boy was tiring. To the others he appeared to be tireless, with limitless energy. He still lingered by the Uruk-Hai leader, trying to explain the concept of a lunch that didn't have bugs crawling all over it. Finally, he gave up and took to scanning the shore for edible plants, still under the close watch of the Uruk-Hai.

"How long did Belrond say it would take us to get there?" Pippin asked.

"Three days," Mithnor sighed, "but that was five hours ago. We're probably about a twelfth of the way there."

"I didn't know anyone could run so fast for so long," Merry commented.

"I don't think I'll be able to do it again," Mithnor admitted.

At a loss for anything to say, Merry took the Gondorian's hand. "Don't worry," Boromir told the three of them. "We'll get out of here somehow."

"How's your vision?" Mithnor asked.

"Pathetic. So's my hearing. I can barely tell what you're saying, let alone which one of you's talking. Mithnor, right?"

"That's right."

Boromir suppressed a sigh of frustration. He felt so utterly helpless. He couldn't even really tell what was going on. It had to still be daytime, but he felt so cold . . .

Mithnor removed his cloak and wrapped it around Boromir. "It may not help much; it's still wet," he said, "but it's better than nothing."

For the first time now, Merry and Pippin could see his face. He was a Gondorian for sure - his face was both proud and gentle, much like Boromir's, his grey eyes showing both exhaustion and determination.

"Thank you, Mithnor," Boromir said gratefully.

"No problem, really; I was getting hot," Mithnor smiled.

* * *

"Welcome back, Legolas," Galadriel said with a warm smile. Beside her was Celeborn, and by him Radagast. Legolas managed a slight bow to the Elves and the Wizard, and Gimli his usual low bow. Galadriel placed a hand on each of them. "I can no longer see any of your Fellowship; it would seem fate has taken an unexpected turn. I cannot say for sure that any are alive."

"That is better fortune than may have been, my Lady," Legolas answered. "We can still hope for the others' survival. And for the Quest's success."

"Yes, hope is something that ever comes back to us, even impossible hope."

Before they could ask what she meant, an Elf came up with Thiris. "I'm sorry, my Lady," the Elf apologized. "She insisted on coming."

Galadriel smiled. "That is well, mellon nin, for what I have to show she should also see."

Thiris raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The pain of the vision still lingered.

"Come with us," Celeborn beckoned.

* * *

"How much farther?" Sam sighed. Frodo smiled. This was the fifth time he'd asked. Aragorn still hadn't given a straight answer.

"Almost ten minutes less than the last time," Aragorn informed him.

"So how do you get into this Mordor, anyway?"

Frodo looked back at Aragorn. That was a new question.

"Once we reach Rauros, we'll go east until we come to the Black Gate. We'll have to sneak in somehow."

"Won't it be guarded?"

"Probably."

"Then how will we . . . . how can we sneak in?"

"I don't know, but we'll find a way."

* * *

"I know who you are," Gimli told Thiris as they followed Galadriel and Celeborn.

"Good; then I don't have to explain."

"Oh, you have to explain, all right. Thorin was your brother?"

"More specifically, my twin."

"Then what are you doing here? Why aren't you back at Erebor?"

"Because if Dain knew I was alive, he would hand the throne over to me, and I have no desire for power. Dain is the best king I have ever seen. And our people's loyalty to him is unconditional. As is mine."

"You were at the Battle of Five Armies."

She nodded. "I came with Dain. But I had no desire to fight the Elves. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried when the Goblins came."

"You said you knew about Hobbits?"

"Yes. I was in the same tent with my brother when he died. Gandalf must've made sure of that. He was one of the few people who knew who I was. Bilbo seemed a most kindly sort, gentle, polite, forgiving. If you came with four of them, it is no wonder the elves let you come to this place."

"It was because of one of them," Gimli nodded. "I don't know if I should . . ."

"Nay, keep your secrets, Gimli, son of Gloin. I am not known for holding my tongue. Better not to tempt me."

"Very well. But how do you know Legolas?"

"We met briefly after the battle. We have something in common; he has no great love for power, either. He could tell I was Thorin's close kin, but he understood why I kept it a secret. At least enough not to tell anyone."

"From what my father's said, you _do_ look a lot alike. A wonder no one else noticed."

"That's why I wear a hood most of the time. It's not so I appear suspicious, though I know it seems that way."

Gimli nodded. "It does. But Aragorn's the same way."

"Aragorn?"

"One of the humans who was with us."

"He was with you?"

"You know him?"

"One does not spend years wandering in and out of Rivendell and _not_ know him, or at least know _of_ him. He led your group?"

"Only after we left Khazad-dum."

"You went there? What news of Balin and those who went with him? We have not heard from them."

When Gimli was silent, Legolas, who had slowed his pace to match theirs, answered, "Nor will you hear from them again. Shadow and flame have taken Moria. They took our leader, as well, Gandalf the Grey."

"Gandalf was with you? Then whatever your quest is must be very important."

"Yes, indeed, my friends," said a familiar voice. "And it is because of that importance that I have returned to you now."

* * *

Guess who! Well, you probably know, but oh, well.

**Snaitf – **That's okay, there is no way you could have possibly known who Thiris was because she is not in any of the books or movies or stuff, so I was just curious whether anyone had figured it out because my sister figured it out right off the bat. (sigh) But she _didn't_ figure out who Mithnor is! :)

**Iccle Fairy – **:) :) :) :) :) I like smiley faces. Couldn't think of anything else to say. :) :) :) :)


	10. A Decision Made

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. As you found out last chapter, Thiris was my idea but not entirely mine, considering she is Thorin's sister. Hmmmm, and what about Belrond and Mithnor? :)

A/N: I already know this chapter is way too short, so you don't have to tell me that.

* * *

Chapter Ten

"Gandalf!" Gimli exclaimed. He, Legolas, and Thiris had matching expressions of astonishment.

For, indeed, it was Gandalf, robed in white, a gentle smile on his face.

"Gandalf!" Radagast exclaimed, tears in his eyes. "Valar be praised! I knew you would not abandon us!"

"Never, Radagast," Gandalf said, embracing his cousin. Legolas and Gimli rushed up to join them. Thiris lingered by Galadriel and Celeborn, content to watch the reunion. Radagast had been granted his impossible wish. Perhaps there was yet hope for the rest of Middle-Earth.

* * *

Aragorn decided to take a short rest and let the river carry the boat a ways. He closed his eyes and let the wind blow through his hair. This was freedom.

Suddenly, he heard a hiss behind him. He turned, but there was no sign of the creature anywhere. _'He must be hiding behind the rocks,' _Aragorn realized. Though there were few, they were big enough for such a small creature to take cover behind.

"Strider," Frodo said suddenly. "Do _you _think we should go to Gondor?"

Aragorn could tell Frodo hadn't asked the question easily. The Ringbearer was tiring, and not only physically from lack of sleep. This early separation and possible death of the others was beginning to take its toll.

What was it Boromir had said? _"From there we can regroup, strike out for Mordor from a place of strength."_? Aragorn was beginning to think he'd been right.

And Boromir wasn't with them now. It was mostly because of Boromir's wish to use the Ring to aid Gondor that Frodo had rejected the idea. The Hobbit would never say it aloud, but Aragorn knew it was true.

"Frodo," the Ranger said at last. "The final decision is up to you; your burden is the purpose of this Quest. But I think we should go to Gondor to rest."

Frodo nodded. "Very well."

* * *

"Up," the leader ordered roughly. Belrond offered Mithnor a hand. The man sighed. Belrond had suggested with his usual skill that they would be able to run faster if their hands weren't tied. Mithnor wasn't so sure he would be able to run at all, but he let the boy help him up. Better to die standing.

Boromir, whose vision had not cleared but whose legs and arms were feeling better thanks to some plants Belrond had found on the riverbank, forced himself to his feet. If Mithnor had to run, he would, too.

Sensing Boromir might need a little encouragement, Mithnor took the other man's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Hold on to hope," he said quietly. "Oft hope is born when all's forlorn."

Boromir knew that sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. He placed an arm around the other Gondorian's shoulder, steadying him. "They say courage takes many forms, Mithnor. But never has it seemed more obvious to me."

Mithnor forced a smile, even though he knew his companion couldn't see him. "Nor to me."

They knew what they had to do. They had to go as slowly as the Uruk-Hai would let them, delay their arrival at Isengard for as long as they could, give themselves more time to escape.

"Get moving," an Uruk ordered.

"Just keep running straight," Mithnor directed as they started. He needed to distract Boromir, keep him awake but unaware of the terrible pain they both were in. But he couldn't start a conversation that would give their captors any information, or give away that they weren't who Belrond had said they were. "So tell me about Rivendell," he said finally.

"I should never have gone there. I should have stayed in Gondor with my people. But it _is_ a wonderful place. I can understand why Faramir wanted to go."

"You can't blame yourself for that."

"For what? The fact that our father doesn't trust him, that my brother has always had to hide in my shadow? I guess not, but it's hard not to."

"If he were here now, what would he say?"

"That he doesn't mind. But he does, Mithnor. He tries so hard. And now I've left him alone with a father who always expects too much of him."

"He'll be all right," Mithnor assured the other Gondorian.

And somehow, Boromir believed him. His brother was tougher than he ever let on about. He'd had to be, to put up with their father. He'd be all right until Boromir found a way to return.

* * *

**SNAITF – **Yes, Gandalf is back. Maybe not as dramatic as in the books, but still a good place to end a chapter. :) Yes, you've said it before, but it's worth repeating: Ian Malcolm is cool. :)

**Iccle Fairy – **Yes, poor Hobbits, and it's only going to get worse if they ever get to Isengard. :)

**xwhit3staRx – **That's okay, I'm even confusing some people who _are _big LOTR fans, so I'm not surprised you're a little lost. May clear up a little once we learn who everyone is. :)

**DriggerWhiteTiger – **Hi. :) Um . . . can't think of anything else to say. :) Um . . . next chapter will not be this short.


	11. Isengard

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine.As you are about to find out, Mithnor is not mine, either.

**Chapter Eleven

* * *

**

Three days later . . .

Mithnor could tell the Uruks were frustrated. They were very close now, but not close enough to continue without stopping yet again, as they had been forced to do more and more frequently.

But not frequently enough, the Gondorian knew. Boromir was weakening. And he could no longer deny that he was, as well. Even when they stopped to rest, the Uruks were always prodding and poking at them. The creatures seemed tireless.

As did Belrond. The boy was constantly cheerful, always in the front. He never seemed to lose his breath, never seemed to need rest. But when he did sleep, the Uruks left him alone. He woke easily and on his own in less than an hour, a smile on his face and a cheery look in his eye.

But Mithnor could tell it was an act. A very good act, to be sure, but an act nonetheless. Belrond was as exhausted as the rest of them. He was simply an expert at hiding it.

He was watching for any chance of escape, of course, but none came. And Isengard was less than two hours away.

"Up!" the Uruk-Hai leader ordered. Mithnor suppressed a groan. It had only been ten or fifteen minutes. But the Uruk-Hai wouldn't listen even if he had strength enough left to argue with them.

Belrond helped the other two humans up. The Uruks picked up the Hobbits. Mithnor took Boromir's hand, guiding him. "Just a little farther," he assured him, making sure, still, to disguise his voice. Although he was convinced by now that Boromir wouldn't recognize him, that he was too delirious and the poison was affecting his mind too much, there was no reason to take the risk. Besides, no reason to make the Uruk-Hai suspicious.

Boromir smiled a little. "Just a little farther," he echoed. "But once we get there, then what?"

* * *

Time never seemed to pass in Lothlorien. Legolas' wound was beginning to heal. Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli made their Quest known to Thiris and Radagast.

"Then you think Frodo will continue to Mordor?" Thiris asked.

Gandalf nodded. "He will not give up hope now, not if Sam and Aragorn are with him still."

"And what of the others?" Radagast asked. "Boromir and Merry and Pippin?"

"They will follow the path that they think is best. They will probably go to Gondor."

"Then where are we needed?" Legolas asked.

"Rohan," Gandalf replied. "The creatures which attacked you came from Isengard. King Theoden will need our aid."

"You want us to walk all the way to Rohan?" Thiris exclaimed.

Gandalf gave no answer, but stared off into the distance. "I do hope they are alive."

* * *

"Rauros," Aragorn whispered as he rowed the boat ashore. "We'll carry the boat to where the water calms. Then we'll continue on to Gondor."

Frodo nodded silently. Sam smiled, glad to be getting out of the boat. Aragorn carried the boat, and Sam carried most of the food, even though Frodo insisted on carrying a little.

Suddenly, a creature leapt out of the woods and onto Frodo's back. "Mister Frodo!" Sam called. Aragorn dropped the boat and they both rushed to help the Ringbearer.

"Precioussssss!" Gollum shrieked with his hands around Frodo's neck.

Aragorn drew his sword. "Let him go!" he ordered, holding his blade close to the creature. Frodo struggled free.

Aragorn seized Gollum's wrist just as he was about to scamper off. "Not this time," he said roughly.

"What do we do with him?" Sam asked.

"We can't let him go," Aragorn decided. "We'll have to keep him with us."

"All the way to Gondor?"

"All the way."

* * *

"Boromir?"

"What is it, Mithnor?"

"Isengard. I can see it."

"How far?"

"Two minutes at most."

"No chance of escape?"

"Nothing."

* * *

"Merry? Is that it?"

"I think so, Pip."

"Doesn't look very welcoming, does it?"

Merry smiled. "As long as we get to lie down and rest without getting kicked and poked, it's welcoming enough.

"You think they have food?"

"Of course." Merry knew he had to keep his friend's spirits up. "What I want, though, is a nice pint of beer. And then a good smoke."

Pippin had a dreamy look in his eyes. "I wish I had three mouths. Then I could eat, drink, and smoke at the same time."

Merry grinned. "You'd need more hands," he pointed out.

"Sounds good."

"Where would you put them?"

Pippin shrugged. "Where would you put two extra mouths?"

* * *

From the window of his tower, Saruman could see the Uruk-hai approaching. He smiled. They were faster than he'd thought.

Slowly, taking his time, the Wizard descended the stairs of Isengard. The Uruks ran up. They roughly dumped Merry and Pippin to the ground beside Belrond, who was still at the front, and shoved Boromir and Mithnor up beside them. Boromir stood as tall as he could, head held high. Mithnor looked directly into Saruman's dark eyes, trying not to appear afraid for the Halflings' sake.

"What is this?" Saruman asked the Uruk leader. "I ordered you to kill all but the Halflings."

The Uruk pushed Belrond forward. "This one told us the others might be of some value."

Saruman sighed inwardly. How could they possibly have mistaken the boy for a Hobbit? He looked the other humans over again. "You are right," he said with a strange gleam in his eye. "It might give me an advantage. Here you are in my power - both sons of the Steward of Gondor."

* * *

Muahahahahaha. Did anybody guess?

**xWhiteXstaRx – **:)

**iccle fairy – **More brotherly love to come now that Boromir knows who Mithnor really is. :) Muahahahaha.


	12. The Best Laid Plans

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine.

**Chapter Twelve**

**

* * *

**

The reaction was instantaneous. "Faramir!" Boromir exclaimed

Faramir nodded, but then remembered his brother couldn't see him. "Yes, it's me," he said, embracing Boromir.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry. And I didn't want to give anything away to the Uruks."

"But he said they were the King and Steward," the Uruk leader objected.

"I lied," Belrond shrugged. Mithnor ruffled his hair.

The Uruk leader drew his sword, but Saruman stopped him. "_You_ were the one foolish enough to believe there was a king in Gondor." He turned to Belrond. "You must have been very convincing, to persuade them not to kill all of you. What is your name, lad?"

"Belrond of Gondor," the boy said with a polite bow. "And thank you; I think that was meant as a compliment. Now if I could point out something . . ."

"By all means." Saruman smiled. This boy could be useful.

"The Halflings are asleep."

Saruman nodded. "It is of no matter, Belrond of Gondor. They shall rest now. As shall you all. The journey has not been easy for you."

Boromir's expression was unchanged. False courtesy, to be sure, meant to lure them into trusting him. Faramir, as well, responded to the Wizard's offer only with a cold stare.

But Belrond nodded, and bowed again. "Thank you kindly, I am sure. It has been long since we have slept in peace. First, however, if I may venture so far as to ask a favor, one that is greatly needed . . ."

"What is it?"

"My lords Boromir and Faramir are of no use to you dead; you must know that. Both are wounded, badly, and I do not have the plants I need to treat their wounds. You, however, might. If I may be permitted to use what you have stored . . ."

"So be it. I shall show you the way. Come."

As he followed the Wizard, Belrond glanced back at Faramir, who managed to smile at the boy. He was doing well.

* * *

"Get in the boat," Aragorn instructed. 

"Preciouss," Gollum whimpered, but did as he was told, still fidgeting with the rope tied around his wrist. It did no good; Sam had tied the knot, almost too tight.

Climbing in behind Gollum and in front of Frodo and Aragorn, Sam sighed. For ten minutes, at least, the creature had done nothing but scream about the rope. At last, Aragorn had had enough and put some cloth between the rope and Gollum's skin. It had worked.

As soon as he realized they weren't going to stop for some time, Gollum curled up in the front of the boat and fell asleep. Sam let out a sigh of relief. This was going to be easier than he had thought.

But by Aragorn's calculations, they still had at least three days before they reached Gondor. And what then? What could they do with the creature once they arrived?

For the moment, however, Sam didn't care. It was enough that, for the moment, they were safe. He held tightly to the other end of the rope. Gollum had no hope of escape.

* * *

"We should depart soon, as soon as Legolas is strong enough," Radagast advised. "We should head south until we reach the border of Fangorn, then follow the forest. We should reach Edoras safely enough." 

"Safe?" Gimli demanded. "Fangorn Forest? Safe? Not if half the tales I have heard of it are true!"

Radagast smiled kindly. "It is true that a great power lies hidden in the Forest of Fangorn. But it shall not trouble us, as long as we cause it no harm."

Gimli let out a "hrumph," but didn't object any further. "And once we reach Edoras?" Thiris asked.

Gandalf shook his head. "Better not to plan too far ahead. We don't know what to expect when we arrive, or what may happen along the way. Any plans we make now will only be shattered."

Legolas nodded his agreement. Just like the plan the whole Fellowship had had of staying together. "Radagast is correct, though. We should leave soon, if the need for our aid in Rohan is as great as you say."

"It is. Do you feel well enough to leave tomorrow?"

"Yes, I believe so, though the thought of leaving this fair land again is not one I cherish."

"Don't worry, Lad," Gimli smiled. "After everything's over and the Quest is complete and all the fighting is finished, we'll come back."

Thiris smiled. "May we all have that chance."

* * *

Belrond followed Saruman to his storeroom, where he was pleased, as well as surprised, to find exactly what he needed, and in great amounts. He took his time looking for it, but Saruman didn't seem to mind. In fact, the Wizard seemed quite interested in the young soldier. 

Belrond wasn't surprised. After all, Saruman had admitted that he had been able to successfully fool the Uruks, and bring all his friends safely to Isengard, no easy feat, to be sure.

Saruman, for his part, knew the boy might prove useful. He now had the two halflings, one of whom, he believed, had what he was looking for, as well as Boromir and Faramir. But prisoners, even such as these, were almost no use unless others knew where they were.

That would be Belrond's task -- to make sure they found out.

* * *

**Pip4 --**Glad you like cliffhangers. :) 

**Anawey **-- Randomness! I love randomness! Of course, I wrote half of this at three o' clock in the morning while being kept awake by a can of coke, so it should be random. :)

**defectiveweyounclone -- **Hmmm, more Boromir, I'll have to work on that. :)

**xWhit3StaRx -- **:) :) :) I like smiley faces, too. :) :) :)


	13. The World of Night

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings isnot mine.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Saruman and Belrond were on their way back to the others when an Uruk came up to them. Saruman motioned to Belrond to stay back while he talked to the Uruk, which Belrond was more than happy to do.

After a moment of talking, Saruman seemed to have forgotten Belrond, and headed off to settle whatever was going on with the Uruks.

As soon as they were out of sight, Belrond turned and ran in the other direction. He needed to know more about the layout of this huge tower, to know where he was, and where everything else was.

He ran for a while, taking turns, absorbing everything. Then, he saw an open door, leading into a room, all black. He cautiously stepped in and looked around. There were other doors, but only this one was open. Strange, he thought. Definitely strange.

He looked all around for a sign of an ambush, for any hint that could be a trap, for anyone watching him, but there was no one. There was only a ball, a black sphere, in the center of the room.

Belrond moved cautiously towards it, as if it might suddenly burst into flame. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

There had to be _some_ reason it was there, Belrond thought, frustrated. Why keep a black ball? There seemed to be nothing special about it, unless it were that it was black without a hint of any other color, that it was perfectly round all over, and that it was there, on a stand, in the center of an otherwise empty room.

Cautiously, but curiously, Belrond extended his hand towards it. Immediately, the ball began to glow a bright red. Belrond's eyes widened, and he tried to draw his hand away, but he couldn't. Instead, he was drawn towards it, towards what he now realized was a great red Eye. Belrond shut his eyes, but he couldn't block it out of his head. He now realized he was facing the Enemy.

He had the Stone in both hands now, and had lifted it off the stand, though he was only vaguely aware of doing so. The pain inside his head was almost unbearable. He opened his eyes, not wanting to see and yet longing to, not wishing to hear, yet paying full attention.

He knew what the Enemy wanted. He wanted the Ring. But Belrond didn't know where it was. He wanted power, control, but a young boy, even one from Minas Tirith, couldn't give him that. Belrond knew, suddenly, that the Enemy had no use for him.

Belrond struggled with all his might, trying to throw the stone away. His mind burned with the effort; his whole body felt as if it were on fire. Belrond fell to the ground, and the Stone rolled away, black once more, as consciousness left him.

Yet, in the very last second before his hands left the Stone, Belrond knew he saw a white city, and a face, a face he somehow recognized before consciousness, and the image, slipped away.

* * *

The sky was growing dark, and the moon and stars were beginning to show. Aragorn knew they should stop, and, yet, for some reason, he found himself not wanting to waste any time.

"Shouldn't we stop, Aragorn?" Frodo asked.

The Ranger smiled. Hobbits had perfect timing. "Yes, we'll stop. This looks like a good place." He paddled the boat over to the side of the river.

Gollum's eyes snapped open immediately. "Oh, no, you don't," Sam warned, gripping the rope.

"We're going to have to watch him," Frodo agreed. Gollum hissed, and once again resumed fiddling with the rope.

Aragorn sighed. "He slept all day; he's well rested. He'll be awake all night."

"I'll take the first watch," Sam volunteered.

"Nassssssty Hobbit," Gollum complained.

"Yes, Hobbit get very nasty if you try to hurt Mr. Frodo," Sam agreed.

Frodo smiled. "Thank you, Sam. Wake me when you get tired."

Sam tied his end of the rope around a tree, but only twice, so they could untie it in the morning.

As the others closed their eyes to go to sleep, it began to rain.

* * *

Hours later, it was still raining. Sam was wet, cold, and tired, but still had a watchful eye on Gollum, who was still watching Sam for any sign of drowsiness.

The waves on the river were getting rougher. The water was starting to rise.

Maybe it had been drowsiness. Maybe they had been more concerned with watching Gollum. Whatever the reason, they had only pulled the boat partway ashore.

By the time Sam realized it, the boat was already in the middle of the river.

"Strider!" he yelled. "Strider!" The ranger was awake in an instant, quickly followed by Frodo. Sam pointed frantically to the boat. "I don't know what happened! I was watching Gollum! It just--"

Aragorn didn't wait to hear the rest of it. He jumped into the river and swam for the boat with all his might. Finally, he managed to reach it and pull himself inside, exhausted, wet, and cold.

Still, he grabbed the paddle and tried to bring the boat back to shore. But the current was too strong. It was all he could do to keep the boat in one place and not let it be pulled downriver. "Frodo! Sam!" he called out. "You're going to have to swim out here!"

"What about Gollum?" Sam called. "The supplies?"

"Leave them! We can come back!" Aragorn yelled, not sure at all that they would be able to.

Frodo headed out into the water, and Sam quickly followed. Aragorn tried to hold the boat in one place, but it wasn't easy. The Hobbits, too, were swept by the current.

Sam was already in over his head when he realized -- he couldn't swim.

* * *

Frodo hadn't realized anything was wrong. His entire concentration was on reaching the boat, getting to safety. At last, he saw the white of the boat close to him, and Aragorn's hand reaching out. He gripped, only then realizing that the ranger had stopped paddling to help him; they were being tossed downriver.

Aragorn realized it, too, and immediately began paddling, while Frodo searched the night for a sign of Sam. Only then did Frodo remember.

"Aragorn! He can't swim!" Frodo called over the sound of the rain. A look of horror filled the Hobbit's face, though it was hardly visible in the dim light that shone through the clouds.

Aragorn wore an equal expression. "Do you see him?"

"No!"

Aragorn thought it over in his head, then spoke. "The current will have swept him downriver. Maybe he's made it back to shore. Keep an eye on the land, Frodo; I have to watch the river."

"I can't see anything!"

"Use the light!"

"What light?"

"What Galadriel gave you!"

Frodo realized what he meant and reached for the Phial inside his cloak, but to his surprise, it wasn't there. "It must have fallen out!"

Aragorn barely turned in time to dodge another rock. "Frodo, I have to take us out to the middle of the river before we crash into something! There're too many rocks near the edge here!"

"Aragorn, I can't leave him!"

"Frodo, if I don't take us further out, all you're going to do is joint him in the river because we are _going_ to crash!"

Tears filled Frodo's eyes as he scanned the shore one more time. "All right," he finally said, wiping the tears on his already wet clothes. "Do it."

Aragorn shivered. He couldn't get to shore in this weather, not with all these rocks. Even if Sam had somehow made it to shore, they could be miles ahead of him by the time the storm subsided.

In spite of his efforts not to let them, tears clouded Aragorn's eyes. Unable to let go of the paddle to wipe them away, he blinked until they ran down his cheeks, glad that Frodo was watching the river and not him.

They had brought the supplies ashore, he realized, all of them. They had lost Sam, and now Gollum was loose; sooner or later, he would break free. Things were worse now than ever. Now he was confident of their decision.

They had to reach Minas Tirith.

* * *

Belrond groaned and slowly got to his feet. His head ached, and he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. His plants lay scattered on the floor; he'd dropped them while picking up the Stone.

The Stone! Everything flooded back to him. The Eye. The White City. And--

Then he realized the stone was back on its stand. Had he lifted it off at all? Yes, he was sure he had. Yet there it was, as if it had never been moved.

Then he realized what was happening. Frantic, he took the bag his plants had been in and threw it over the Stone. Then he placed the plants on top of it. He had to get back to the others, and he had to take the Stone with him.

Watching from a corner of the room, Saruman smiled, unnoticed in the boy's hurry. But Saruman didn't realize his plan had a fatal flaw . . .

* * *

Sam flailed his arms wildly, struggling just to keep his head above the water. He could feel himself being swept by the current, but he was powerless to stop it. Water covered him, filling his mouth. This was the end.

Suddenly, he felt something grab him from behind. An arm reached around his neck, and he could feel himself being pulled towards the shore, his head kept above the water as much as was possible. At last, he felt land, and crawled up onto the bank, coughing. "Mr. Frodo?" he asked, looking around.

"Ssssssss," came a voice from behind him. "Nasssty Hobbit."


	14. Through a Glass Darkly

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Belrond ran down the hall, back the way he had come. But when he reached the entrance, the others weren't there. He realized he didn't know where Saruman had planned to take them.

At least it gave him an excuse, he thought, for being gone for so long.

Then, he saw Saruman, ascending the stairs. Belrond ran down to meet him.

Saruman smiled; he knew the passageways of Isengard better than the boy. Thus he had been able to reach the exit first, and without Belrond noticing. "Attempting an escape?" he asked. "Without the others."

"Hardly," Belrond smiled. "I was looking for them, but I got lost."

Saruman nodded, masking a smile. "Easy enough to do."

"Could you . . ."

"Show you where the others are? Of course. Follow me carefully; we don't want you getting lost again."

There was silence for a moment as they walked. Then Saruman spoke. "How did you come to be with the two Halflings?"

"I was with Captain Faramir when we heard the Horn of Gondor." Saruman raised an eyebrow, so he continued. "It is said that the horn will not go unanswered if blown close enough to Gondor."

"And Faramir knew it could only be his brother."

"Yes. When we arrived, we killed most of the Uruks that were there, but one escaped back to his camp. Lord Boromir had been wounded by a poisoned arrow before our arrival, so it was Captain Faramir who followed him, right into the Uruk-Hai camp."

"And he escaped alive?"

"Barely. Then the Uruk-Hai found us, and you know the rest."

"They brought you here, somehow all still alive."

"I told the Uruk-Hai Lord Boromir and Captain Faramir were the Kind and Steward of Gondor, and that one would surely die if they killed the other. And they assumed I was a Halfling, as well. They were obviously bred for war, not thinking."

Saruman smiled. "You have some skill, Belrond of Gondor. Your friends are in here."

"Thank you."

Saruman opened the door. "I will see you later, my brave warrior."

Belrond bowed. "Until then, my lord." He closed the door, and immediately dropped to the floor next to the others. He waited for Saruman's footsteps to die away, then got up and went to the door. He tugged on it, but to no avail.

"We've tried," Pippin told him. "It's closed by magic or somethin'."

Belrond nodded. "Wizards." He opened his bag and began to remove his plants.

"You found everything?" Faramir asked.

"I hope so. This isn't exactly the Houses of Healing, if you know what I mean. The . . . surroundings aren't exactly perfect, the conditions rather unsuitable for rest and recovery."

Boromir smiled. "Either you've spent too much time in the Houses of Healing, Belrond, or too much time with my brother. You're not responsible for making the surroundings and conditions perfect. Hopefully we will be far away from them soon."

"Agreed," Belrond nodded, but didn't explain further. Instead, he got to work, hoping that what he could do would be enough.

* * *

"Gollum?" Sam asked, shivering, wide-eyed. "You saved me?" 

"Yesss, we jumpsss in nassssty cold river to sssave nassssty Hobbit. We freessss ourssselvesss from nasssty rope in time to sssssave him."

Sam couldn't believe his ears. Why would Gollum want to save him? Why not just let him drown?

He looked around. Their food and supplies were close by. It was still raining ferociously. He wanted to get some sleep, but . . .

But nothing, he decided. If Gollum had wanted him dead, he would have let him die. But all Gollum really wanted was the Ring, his Precious, and killing Sam would not give him that. He looked at Gollum, who was still fiddling with the end of the rope that was tied around his wrist.

"Here," Sam offered. "I'll take it off. If you're going to run away, I'd rather not lose the rope." He skillfully untied the knot. Gollum remained where he was. Sam eyed him curiously. "Why stay?"

"We can't go out on the river in the sssstorm, Preciousss, oh, no, it would tossss usss to piecesss, yesss, it would. We musssst wait for the ssstorm to leave, yesss."

"But . . . why stay with me?"

"Nasssty Hobbit knowssss, yesss, it knowsss where to find other Hobbit, Bagginssss. It knowssss where Bagginssss is going, yessss, it doessss, Preciousssss."

There had to be more, Sam knew. They had said aloud many times that they were going to Gondor. Surely even this creature knew where that was, and how to get there, at least as well as he did.

Sam sighed and leaned back against a tree, then felt something underneath him. He picked it up.

"What issss that, my Precioussss?" Gollum hissed.

"It's Mister Frodo's," Sam sighed. There was no point in lying to the creature. "Lady Galadriel gave it to him. She's the one who gave me the rope."

"Nassssty rope, yesssssss."

Sam tucked the phial into his cloak, not bothering to argue. "Well, I'll see you in the morning, Gollum, if you're still around."

"Oh, we are sssstaying, Precioussss. Yessssss, we mussst ssstay with Nassssty Hobbit, yesssssss."

Sam closed his eyes. "That's going to get really annoying if you keep saying that. Call me Sam."

"Sssssssam?"

Sam fell asleep, listening to Gollum try out the new word, and wondering how they would ever find Frodo and Aragorn, or even Gondor.

* * *

Aragorn kept paddling, trying to control the boat. The storm still hadn't subsided, and his arms ached with the effort. Frodo's face was turned away from him, but the Ranger could tell he was crying. Both of them were exhausted. 

"You may as well get some sleep, Frodo," Aragorn suggested. "We won't be going ashore for a while."

Frodo nodded and lay down in the front of the boat. Soon, he was sleeping. Aragorn let his tears come freely now. It was very possible that he and Frodo were the only members of the Fellowship left alive. The fate of all of Middle-Earth was in their hands.

Several times, he tried to pull over to shore, but the current was too strong. Eventually, he relaxed, stopped fighting. If they could go on like this, through the night, then they would reach Gondor sooner. Speed could mean everything now, with the others gone. Gollum was almost sure to come after them, but he wouldn't go out on the River in this weather. They needed to put some distance between that creature and Frodo, even if it meant giving up the hope that Sam might find them.

"Frodo!" he called, and the Hobbit was awake immediately. "Frodo, we should keep going. We can't give Gollum a chance to catch up!"

Frodo looked surprised for a minute. But it _was_ the right choice, he knew. Even if they stopped, the chances of Sam finding them on foot were slim, if not none. If Sam had even managed to survive at all.

"Can you do that in the dark?" he asked at last. "In this weather? Can you see well enough?"

Suddenly, lighting streaked across the sky. "On the other hand," Aragorn said, "a boat in the middle of a river during a storm with lightning is _not_ the best of ideas. I'll try to get us to shore."

* * *

Thiris rolled over onto her side, then onto her other side, but sleep did not come. She sat up and looked around. Everyone else seemed to be asleep. Gimli was close by, snoring. Radagast and Gandalf were a ways off. They had been talking until a little while ago, but had finally drifted off. Legolas . . . where _was_ Legolas? She looked around in surprise before realizing he wasn't that far away. 

He was standing, very still and silent, under a particularly large tree, staring out into the night. But Thiris knew, as he did, that not even his keen Elf eyes could catch a glimpse of his companions. If they were alive, they would be far away by now.

Thiris got up and made her way over to the Elf, who heard her coming and turned around to look. For a long time, both of them were silent.

At last, Legolas spoke. "The River is restless," he said quietly, so as not to wake the others. Some ill power is at work this night."

Thiris looked up at the Elf. "Something to do with the others?"

"I do not know," Legolas admitted. "I do not have Galadriel's sight, nor Elrond's. But I feel a terrible force at work. I should be out there, helping to fight it. If I hadn't been shot . . ."

"Even the power of the Elves cannot change the past," Thiris said quietly. "What has happened is done, and cannot be undone. All that is left to us is to do what we can."

* * *

Belrond worked quickly, skillfully, careful to be as gentle as he could. He and Faramir tended to Boromir first, occasionally enlisting the aid of the Hobbits. The wound itself was healing nicely, and took them little time to bandage. Belrond, who was proving himself to be very skilled with plants, but clueless at making them taste good, received a sour face from the Gondorian when he had drunk all of the mixture. 

Faramir shrugged. "It's like what you said about the surroundings. It's not our task to make them seem good. It's our task to make them work."

"How can anything that tastes like that _not_ be poison?" Boromir sighed as he lay back down.

Faramir shrugged to Belrond to forget about it. He knew what was really torturing his brother was that one arrow, one moment of not being on his guard, had caused all this. Boromir wasn't used to feeling helpless, to having nothing to do but wait for something, anything, to happen. Boromir was a warrior.

Now that Belrond had what he needed, Faramir's wounds, as well, proved easy enough to tend to. He was weak from the pain and loss of blood, exhausted from running for so long, and dehydrated just like the rest of them, but not one moan escaped him, not one word of complaint did he utter as Belrond, assisted by the Hobbits, bandaged his side and made a sling for his arm.

The Hobbits each had a couple scrapes and bruises where the Uruks had poked and prodded them, but nothing serious. Belrond was untouched, but to Faramir he seemed even quieter than before, as if something were troubling him.

He didn't have a chance to ask, however, for at that moment the door was opened. Boromir sat straight up, as if ready for an attack, though, blind and exhausted, he was in no condition for a fight.

Saruman smiled, as though amused at the man's defiance. "I'm alone. I thought you might appreciate some food."

"I'd appreciate some answers!" Boromir snapped as he stood up. "For three days these Uruks push, prod, and drag us all the way here, and now you're trying to play at being a gracious host? Do you really think this will work? Do you think you can lure us into trusting you? Well, it won't work!" He collapsed to the floor, out of breath. Faramir came to his side. Merry and Pippin quickly joined them.

Only Belrond remained calmly seated where he had been. Slowly, he rose, and bowed deeply to Saruman. He then approached the Wizard to take the bag of food he offered in his left hand.

But at the moment he reached out to take it, Saruman quickly raised his staff. The boy was sent flying into the wall. His head hit with a crack, and Faramir, Merry, and Pippin stared, horrified, as a pool of blood formed about him. Even Boromir seemed to know what was happening, and turned towards the sound.

Saruman flung his bag to the floor, his dark eyes burning. "Be warned now what will happen to any of you who go wandering about the tower. And any of you would surely fare worse than he." The Wizard turned, slamming the door behind him.

Faramir rushed to the boy's side, already knowing he would be too late. He took Belrond's hand. "Captain," the boy whispered. "Stone . . . he . . . knows . . ." His body went limp in Faramir's arms.

Faramir held Belrond's body close, as if the warmth of his own could bring life back to his friend's. Tears came freely to his eyes, tears he would not have dared shed in Gondor, in his father's presence. But here, what did it matter?

Boromir felt his way over to his brother and wrapped his arms around him and the lifeless body he held in his arms. Merry and Pippin joined them, wearing matching expressions of horror and disbelief. What had made Saruman lash out in anger so suddenly, and at the one member of the group who had shown him respect, who had returned his courtesy, an act though it might have been?

Why?

* * *

**Anawey -- **Well, Sam is wondering the same thing you are: why did Gollum save him. For the moment, the only answer I can give is that Gollum saved Sam because I didn't want Sam to die. I'll come up with something better and more mysterious later.

**xWhit3StaRx -- **Yeah, I heard about the rule with the reply thingies, but since none of my other stories have gotten zappedwhen I continued to do them, I guess it's pretty safe. :)

**Moonyasha -- **:) Yeah, I know, I have a problem with updating, and now that school's starting again, it's only going to get worse. But I'll try to keep updating regularly. Just letting you know so that if it takes a while, I didn't fall off the face of the earth or anything; my teachers just gave me too much homework. :)


	15. A Pale Light Lingered

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. Thiris is mine. Belrond would be mine, but now he's dead, so he doesn't count anymore. :)

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Frodo awoke to a gentle falling of rain and a shake from Aragorn. He did not remember falling asleep, but he must have, for neither did he remember getting out of the boat, and now he was lying, cold and shivering, on the shore.

The sky was dark, but he knew it was morning, or at least close enough to morning to set out. Aragorn held out some berries. "It's all I could find while staying close enough to see you. I tried to catch some fish, but the river was far too rough. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Frodo said quietly, sitting up slowly, exhausted. "None of this is your fault. You didn't ask for this any more than I did."

Aragorn looked surprised. Of course, he realized, he'd been blaming himself. He'd been the leader of the Fellowship. He'd told them to keep going on the River. He hadn't waited for Legolas and Gimli, or slowed down when Boromir had wanted to. He'd forgotten to check the boat, and then told a Hobbit who couldn't swim to come out to them. How was this not his fault? And yet Frodo didn't blame him, even for the death of his best friend. No doubt he was blaming himself for forgetting that Sam couldn't swim.

They got into the boat and Aragorn pushed off from the shore. The rain continued to fall, and Frodo huddled in the front, his hood pulled down onto his face to keep the rain out. Aragorn kept paddling, breaking his rhythm occasionally only to examine their surroundings in an attempt to determine where they were.

The trees and rocks were all beginning to look the same. He could only guess at how much further they had to go.

"We'll stop a little before dark," Aragorn said, half to Frodo, half to himself. "We can search around for food then."

Frodo nodded. He knew Aragorn was trying to keep himself awake. The Ranger hadn't slept more than a couple minutes at a time for quite a while. "Aragorn," the Hobbit said, "I'll try to get some sleep now; that way you can get some rest when we stop for the night, and I'll stay awake."

Aragorn smiled as Frodo lay down in the front of the boat. The birds sang. The rain fell. His paddling made quiet splashing sounds. Soon, the Hobbit was asleep, and added his own quiet breathing to the lullaby.

Aragorn splashed his face with cold water. He had to stay awake. They had to reach Gondor, as soon as possible.

Everything depended on it.

* * *

"Ssssssam," hissed a voice in the Hobbit's ear. "Ssssilly Hobbit, yesss, it musssst wake up. Musssst go, yessss. Come. Come, Sssssam." 

Sam opened his eyes. It was dark still, and raining, but in the east a pale light was beginning to show. "Can't we eat somethin' first?"

"It mussssst hurry, Precioussss. Musssstn't wasssste time."

"I don't know how you expect to catch them, anyway," Sam sighed, opening his pack. "We'll never go fast enough on foot, and we haven't got a boat."

"We mussst float on the River, yesssss, ussse logssssesss."

Sam nearly choked on a bit of lembas bread as he realized what the creature meant. Gollum wanted to follow them as he had been before -- floating with a log, way out on the River. "I can't swim," Sam protested.

"Ssssam doessssn't need to ssswim, oh, no, Preciousssssss. Ssssam will hold onto log, of coursssse. Log will keep Ssssam from sssssinking."

"What about the food? It'll get wet."

"Yesssss, Preciousssss, nassssty Hobbit food will ssssssoak. Cannot help it, no, my Precioussss. It isssss the only way, only way fasssst enough to find Bagginsssss, yessss."

Sam had to admit he could see no other way. "All right. Show me how."

Soon, he and Gollum were out in the middle of the river, floating with the current. Sam clung tightly to his log, trying also to keep his bag of supplies balanced on top.

The water was cold, but not unbearably so, and he would have gotten wet anyway from the rain, he realized. Certainly Gollum was enjoying himself, every so often taking a swipe at a fish. At last, he caught one and began to eat it greedily. Sam turned away, disgusted, but could still hear the sounds.

Sam looked out at the river ahead, straining his eyes for a sign of Aragorn and Frodo. But they were too far ahead. Would they ever find them? Would he ever see Frodo again?

He looked at his only companion, who was now done with his fish and searching for another one. He reached down and, in one stroke, his long fingers grasped a cold, wriggling fish.

Sam moved his log a little closer. "Do you think you could show me how to do that?"

* * *

The weather in Lothlorien was beautiful, with no trace of clouds in sight. The sun was only just rising when Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Radagast, and Thiris set out for Edoras. 

"We must travel quickly," Gandalf said. He had obviously not lost his talent for stating the obvious. They started out at a quick walk, Gandalf leading the way, followed closely by Legolas and Radagast. Thiris lingered near the back with Gimli.

For a while, all were silent. Legolas made his way up to Gandalf's side. "Gandalf, last night . . ."

"Yes, I know. I felt it, too. Something has happened."

"To the others?"

"I don't know."

Legolas sighed. "Gandalf, is it foolishness to hope the others are still alive?"

Gandalf thought before answering. "This entire Quest has been called foolishness, and rightfully so. Foolishness to send a Hobbit deep into Mordor bearing the Ring of Power. Foolishness to hope that he will succeed. Foolishness to hope we will not all be destroyed before the Quest is finished. Hoping the others are still alive is no more foolishness than these."

Legolas nodded. That would have to do for now.

* * *

"Boromir," came Faramir's urgent whisper. "Boromir, wake up! The Hobbits are gone!" 

Boromir's eyes shot open, and he was surprised and relived to find that he could see. Things were a little blurry, but it was a distinct improvement on total darkness.

He looked around. Belrond's bag of herbs lay on the floor, as did the food Saruman had brought. Belrond's bag seemed still suspiciously full, but that was the least of their problems at the moment, he reasoned. The Hobbits were gone, and Belrond's body had been taken, as well.

Boromir shook his head. "I don't think he'll harm them. He will just search them for the Ring. Once he realizes they don't have it . . ."

"He'll be furious."

"There's really nothing we can do," Boromir admitted. "We can't leave."

Faramir nodded and began cleaning up some of the spare herbs. As soon as he opened the bag to put them back, however, he nearly jumped. "Boromir! Look!"

Boromir hurried over to look. His legs were sore, but it seemed easier to move them. How long had he been asleep? Surely Faramir wouldn't know, either. He had probably only just woken up, Boromir reasoned from the sound of his voice.

Faramir held the bag open for Boromir to see. Inside was a smooth black stone. "This is what Belrond was talking about," Faramir realized. "He also said, 'he knows.' But who? Knows what?"

"Saruman, maybe, knows he had it. But then why didn't he take it back? And why would Belrond take it in the first place? It's not like it can help us get out of here. Why would it be so important?"

"He would have had a reason." Faramir looked up. "This is why Saruman was so angry. He said something about wandering about the tower. Belrond did, and he found this. He knew that, somehow, it might help us."

"It's a big black stone!" Boromir objected. "And if it could help us and Saruman knew he had it, why didn't he just take it back?"

"Maybe . . . he wants us to use it."

"What?"

"He wants us to have it. Somehow, using it would give him an advantage."

"Faramir, it's a big black stone!" But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't. It was something powerful, a force drawing him to it from inside the bag.

Faramir caught the look in his brother's eyes. "So you feel it, too? I wish I knew what it was, but . . . No. We shouldn't meddle with things we don't understand. If Saruman wants us to use it, that's reason enough not to." He closed the bag quickly, turning his eyes away.

* * *

All was silent for a while. Finally, the door opened. Saruman stood there, his dark eyes burning again. Behind him were two Uruk-Hai, each with a Hobbit in front of them. "Where is It?" Saruman demanded. 

"Where's what?" Faramir asked.

"Do not try that with me, Faramir of Gondor," Saruman warned coldly. "Where is It?"

"Where's what?" Faramir repeated, getting to his feet.

_What are you doing?_ Boromir wondered. _He's not a fool._

"The Ring!" Saruman screamed, and raised his staff.

"Ohhhhh, _that_!" Faramir laughed. "Funny you should ask. They told me it was important; I couldn't imagine why. But they told me it must be kept from you at all costs. I threw it into the River."

"You _what?_" Saruman's face was turning red.

"I threw it into the River."

Boromir had by now realized what his brother was doing. He'd answered before the rest of them, quickly, on purpose. As a member of the Fellowship, Boromir could not claim not to know the Ring's importance. Faramir could. He was trying to send Saruman on a wild chase up and down the Anduin River.

"Liar!" Saruman screamed, but whether he had figured out Faramir's act or was simply in denial, none of them could tell. He turned to the Uruks. "Take him!" They pushed Merry and Pippin into the room and seized Faramir by the arms. Boromir jumped up, ready to fight, but Faramir signalled no and nodded towards the Hobbits. Boromir understood. Faramir could take care of himself. The Halflings needed him.

* * *

The Uruk-Hai dragged Faramir outside the room and Saruman shut the door. He had mastered his rage and was now trying to be polite. "You have not demonstrated much wisdom thus far, Faramir, son of Denethor. You were on the Anduin river with only a boy for a companion. You followed a single Uruk-Hai and were led into an ambush. And now you have attempted to deceive me. I thought you would have learned after what happened to your friend. His manner earned him a quick and easy death, as well as my respect. I lit his funeral pyre myself, an hour ago, much as the Uruk-Hai wished to devour him. You have earned neither. Your death shall be slow, Faramir of Gondor, as a further warning to your friends." 

He raised his staff, quickly, suddenly. Faramir was thrown backwards into the door, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Boromir heard the thump against the door but knew he could do nothing. He put an arm around each of the Halflings. "It'll be all right," he said, trying to sound sure. "We'll find a way out of here." His gaze strayed to the bag that held the smooth black stone. "Somehow." 

After a moment, the door opened. Saruman entered, alone. "I did not believe your brother for a second, Boromir of Gondor. Now he will surely die, slowly and painfully, unless you tell me what I wish to know. It would be well for you, as well. With the Ring of Power, together, Boromir, we could fight Sauron; we could save Minas Tirith. Why not use the Ring to defend your City? It may be Gondor's only hope, Boromir."

Boromir stared at the floor. He knew these words. He had said much the same at Council. What was it that the others had said, that they had believed so much?

At last, he looked up. "No, Saruman. The Ring is evil. It can only be used for evil." _If this is indeed the will of the Council,_ Boromir promised again, silently, _then Gondor will see it done._

Saruman turned on his heel and stormed out the door. "Boromir, you have just condemned your brother to death!" he shouted. Boromir held Merry and Pippin closer, as if trying to let some of their innocence, their hope, sink into him.

The Hobbits huddled closer. There was no doubt Saruman would do what he said. He had already killed Belrond; he would not hesitate to kill Faramir. All the three of them could do now was wait.

* * *

Faramir slowly opened his eyes. He could see the sky; it was clouded, but he was outside. Maybe . . . 

Then he realized where he was, on the very top of the tower. Four large spikes reached out for the sky, marking the corners of the square top. Faramir slowly sat up, leaning his back against one. He was alone.

Not for long. A door opened in the middle of the floor, and Saruman appeared, ascending the stairs. "Faramir, I am prepared to offer you a last chance. Tell me where the Ring may be found, and I will spare your life."

"I don't know where it is." It was true enough. The Hobbit his brother had told him of could be anywhere by now. Well, almost anywhere. The chances of him having made it to Mirkwood or Erebor were slim. But other than that . . .

"Then here you shall die, Faramir of Gondor." He descended the steps, and the door closed behind him. Faramir realized the Wizard's plan. He was going to starve him to death. Not very creative, but effective, slow, and painful. All he would have to do was leave him here long enough . . .

Faramir stared off into the distance. First Belrond. Now him. How long before Saruman threatened to kill them all? Would help ever come?

* * *

**xWhit3StaRx --** Muahahahaha. Not exactly the best cliffhanger ever, but it works. :) 

**Moonyasha --** Oh, don't worry; I plan to take the time I need. I don't really havea choice. :) But I basically know where I'm going from here for a while; the problem is getting to where I need to be to start a certain series of events into motion and then, well, just ride the waves and let the butterflies start to cause thunderstorms. :)

**Anawey **-- You like to ask questions, don't you. Okay, first things first. Why kill Belrond? I could tell you that Saruman killed him to keep him from telling Boromir and Faramir what the Palantir was and what it did. That would make plenty of logical sense, I think. But instead I'm going to be honest. Belrond is dead because I got frustrated with the character. He was too polite, and was starting to be a pain in the neck. On top of that, he wasn't really doing anything. He got them to Isengard alive. That was his purpose.

Will there be any more deaths? The answer is yes, and I'll leave it at that.

Will it be Frodo, Sam, and Aragorn in Mordor? No. I'm not going to tell you right now exactly who it will be, but those three will not be going to Mordor together.

Hope I've been of some help. If not, keep asking questions, and I'll keep being as honest as I can without giving away my plans for the plot. Glad you're interested enough to wonder, mellon nin. :)


	16. Mist and Shadow

Disclaimer: Whatever is left of these people when the story is over is not mine.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

Merry and Pippin watched helplessly as Boromir paced the floor of the room. Three days had passed without so much as a sign of Saruman, any word about Faramir, or any hope of a rescue.

Boromir went over and fiddled with the door handle. The Hobbits didn't even bother hoping it would open; he'd followed this pattern now for nearly an hour. He would circle the room a few times, stop to fiddle with the door handle, kick the door in frustration, and resume pacing.

But this time, he stopped. Then he turned and headed toward the bag of herbs. "I wonder . . ."

"What?" Pippin immediately wanted to know. "Do you have an idea?"

"Maybe." He looked at the door again, as if waiting for someone to open it, but nothing happened. He picked up the bag and carefully opened it. Then he lifted the stone.

Merry and Pippin watched in horror as the stone began to change color. Soon it was glowing bright red, and an eye appeared. Boromir shut his eyes and tried to turn away, but he couldn't. The Stone held him fast.

"Boromir!" Pippin shouted, and rushed over to try to help. But at that moment, the Stone turned a plain white. "Father," Boromir whispered, but then fell to the ground as though dead.

Pippin caught the stone as it fell. He could see only white, but he heard a voice. "Boromir! Boromir! What is wrong?"

"He's . . . he's all right," Pippin said. "He's tired, very tired."

"Who are you?"

"I'm a friend, Peregrin Took of the Shire. Who are you?"

"Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Boromir is my son. Where are you?"

"Isengard. Saruman took us prisoner on our way down the Anduin."

"Help will be sent at once," the Steward assured him. "How many of you are there?"

"Four. Myself, my friend Merry, and your sons."

"Faramir is with you? Then it is no wonder that --" He was cut off suddenly, for the door was flung open and Pippin dropped the stone in surprise. It fell to the floor with a clunk.

Saruman stood there, grinning. "Excellent."

* * *

Faramir shivered. For the third day straight, it was raining. He cupped his hands and let the rain fall in. It wasn't much, but he was still alive. He drank the water gratefully. Gifts came in all forms, and though he was cold and wet, he would not die of thirst.

Still, he couldn't live forever on rainwater. Already the pain of hunger was terrible. He was constantly dizzy, and when he got up, which was rarely, he felt as if he would faint. He was growing weaker, he knew. But there was nothing he could do.

Saruman had not come up, not even to taunt him; he seemed to have forgotten the younger son of the Steward completely. Faramir sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. Saruman had been right about one thing, he thought. He would die here.

Of course, he had plenty of time to think, and to sleep, and it was in a dream that he had realized what the stone was, one of the Palantiri of the kings of old. What else could Belrond have found of such significance that he was willing to risk his life to bring it to them?

For Belrond had known, he realized, that his life was in danger, the moment he stole something from Saruman, or even left the Wizard's side. Yet he had risked it. Why? To speak to one of the other stones? What _had_ happened to the other six?

Faramir sighed. No answers. Only more questions. And plenty of time to ask them. But no one to answer.

* * *

"Frodo," Aragorn whispered. "Look. Can you see it?"

The Ringbearer looked up groggily. The last time Aragorn had said something of that sort, he had been referring to Cair Andros, which, though an excellent place to spend the night, had not proven particularly interesting.

Frodo strained his eyes, and, finally, he could see it, buildings in the distance. "That's Minas Tirith?" he asked.

"No," Aragorn laughed. "No, not at all. That is the city of Osgiliath."

"Oh." The name sounded vaguely familiar, another name out of the older legends.

"Osgiliath lies between Minas Tirith and Mordor," Aragorn explained. "It will be their last defense in this war, before the White City itself is besieged. We will find soldiers there. If they ask anything, Frodo, I will speak. It may be best not to mention that Boromir was with us, for they will want news, and we have none to give them."

Frodo nodded. They would not want to hear that Boromir may be dead. Better not to say anything. Better to wait . . .

Suddenly, an arrow flew through the air, near ten feet in front of them. Another flew closer. Warning shots, Aragorn thought. Orcs would have aimed for them, and would never fire one at a time.

"Row the boat to shore," ordered a man, stepping out from behind the cover of some plants. "Slowly, there are more of us. One move to draw a weapon and we'll shoot."

Aragorn did as he was told, slightly surprised and more than a little impressed, but not at all concerned. These were Boromir's people. As long as they did not learn of the Ring . . .

The man who had called to them to stop came up to meet them as Aragorn brought the boat ashore. The Ranger stepped out slowly, then helped Frodo out of the boat. "Very well," the man nodded. "Come with me." Two more soldiers appeared, but Aragorn had seen them already, though they startled Frodo.

They were led into the City, not really noticed by the other soldiers as they passed. Frodo was about to ask where they were going, but thought better of it. He didn't want to bother them, even a little.

Suddenly, there was a loud screech overhead. "Nazgul!" someone shouted. Frodo felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder.

Everyone went wild. People were running everywhere, trying to get out of the way of the Nazgul, no on some sort of flying creatures, Frodo realized as it flew swiftly towards them. Soon he could see not only one, but four of them, coming closer fast.

Aragorn pulled Frodo behind a wall, but knew it was useless to try to hide him. The Ringwraiths did not find their enemies by sight, and they would be drawn to the Ring. Aragorn drew his sword. None of the soldiers seemed to care, or even notice. If anything, they were glad to have another warrior on their side.

Buildings quickly began to crumble, and the Nazgul did not dismount to try to find the Ring. They stayed together, their beasts ripping apart buildings like so many leaves to be crumpled underfoot in the fall. Men were screaming, running. Bodies, as well as buildings, were flying everywhere. _This isn't a battle,_ Aragorn thought, taking out his bow. _It's a massacre._

Aragorn fired, but the buildings were constantly in between him and the Nazgul. He hit several times, but none of the beasts were wounded badly, and it was beyond useless to try to shoot down a Nazgul.

Suddenly, he heard yet another, behind them, maybe twenty feet away. This one was on foot, headed for Frodo. Aragorn placed himself between the Nazgul and the Hobbit, and the Nazgul charged.

He had fought them before, at Weathertop, but then he had had fire, something they feared. Here, he had only his sword, and soon the other Nazgul joined this one, leaving their beasts to take care of the Gondorian soldiers. "Frodo, get out of here!" Aragorn yelled.

The Hobbit didn't need to be told twice. He ran. Aragorn was now fighting five Nazgul; it was only a matter of time, he thought, before one broke off and went for him instead. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, which, though not as fast as Aragorn, was pretty fast.

Suddenly, a chill filled him. He turned around, and there was yet another Nazgul. Frodo didn't think. He didn't have to. He knew he couldn't outrun it. But he couldn't fight it, either. He drew Sting and ran.

The Nazgul was on him fast. At the last second, Frodo turned to fight. The Nazgul swung once, twice, three times, and each time, Frodo somehow managed to block it. But on the fourth swing, the Nazgul also took from its robes a knife. Frodo blocked the sword, but the knife found its mark, near his neck, barely above his Mithril shirt. Frodo fell to the ground with a scream. The Nazgul reached down . . .

"NO!" shouted a voice. A soldier came into view, running towards them. The Nazgul turned just as the man attacked, sword drawn.

The man attacked furiously, relentlessly, driving the Nazgul away from the wounded Ringbearer. Suddenly, Aragorn was by his side, a torch in his hand. The Nazgul, soon in flames, rushed away, shrieking.

Aragorn hurried to Frodo's side. "Frodo!"

"Aragorn," Frodo breathed, turning his face towards the Ranger.

"Stay still," Aragorn said quickly, kneeling down by the Hobbit's side. The ground was now stained with blood, and more flowed from the wound, which, though not deep, had struck a vein. Aragorn took the knife in his hands. Poisoned.

"Aragorn," Frodo whispered. "Take It."

"What?"

"Take It, Aragorn. You're the only one who can." His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. "Promise me you'll destroy It."

Aragorn's eyes filled with tears. He would have promised anything, he thought, for this not to be happening. But he met Frodo's blue eyes with his own grey ones and took the Hobbit's small hand in his. "I promise."

Frodo managed a smile that drove a knife through Aragorn's heart. _This burden should never have been his, _Aragorn thought._ He should not have the Ring. He shouldn't be lying here, dying._

But Frodo just held Aragorn's hand tighter. "Save the Shire, Aragorn," he whispered, and his eyes, which had seen so much joy and yet so much pain, closed for the last time.

Slowly, Aragorn slid his hands out of Frodo's. His fingers found the clasp to the chain around the Hobbit's neck. He undid it, quickly lifting the whole chain, and stuffed it into his pocket. He didn't even want to look at it. It would be too great a temptation.

"I'll do it, Frodo," Aragorn whispered, cradling the Hobbit's lifeless body close to his own. "I'll take It to Mordor. I'll throw It in the fire. I'll destroy It. I promise you, Frodo, if it's the last thing I'll ever do, I will save the Shire for you. I promise."

* * *

**xWhit3StaRx -- **Well, it wasn't a cliffhanger, but that was the best place to end it. :) Poor Frodo.

**Cindy -- **Don't worry, I have absolutely no intention of making Boromir evil. He's far too interesting as a good guy to make him bad. I don't know where people get that idea. A guy makes one little mistake and people blame him for it forever. And as for killing him, definitely not yet. Saruman wants him alive.

**Moonyasha -- **:) I probably should've explained about the butterflies. That's a chaos theory joke. The butterfly effect thing: a butterfly flaps its wings somewhere and the weather is changed halfway around the world. That thing. One little storm on the Anduin River caused this big mess. Writers use butterfly effects all the time without really noticing it. And riding the waves meant that eventually I'm not going to have to do any more thinking about the plot; it'll just unwind by itself. And believe me, it will.


	17. Even the Most Subtle Spider

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine. Frodo is not mine even though he's dead now. My name is not Mandos. :)

**Chapter Seventeen  
Even the Most Subtle Spider

* * *

**

"Excellent?" Boromir asked. "What did he mean by that?"

"He didn't say," Pippin shrugged. "That's when he left."

Merry sighed. "I think we did exactly what he wanted us to. Pippin spoke with your father, and he's sending us help."

Boromir understood immediately. "They're walking into a trap." He felt his head where he'd hit the floor. The bump wasn't bad, but he had a terrible headache, not just from the fall. The memory of the Great Eye was still fresh in his mind, and he shuddered.

"What was that, anyway?" Pippin asked. "Your father's all the way in Minas Tirith. How could he . . . ?"

Boromir sighed. Faramir would know. Ancient legends and magical balls that talked to each other were his area, not Boromir's. "They're certainly some kind of communication," he said at last, feeling extremely ridiculous. He was stating the obvious, but the obvious was all he had. "My father has one, and so does Sauron. He spoke to me. I . . . I didn't say anything, but he knew who I was. Finally, either my father or I broke the connection with him, or he released me. I'm not sure which. He doesn't know about Frodo, so one of the others, at least, is yet alive, and the Ring is safe." He looked around. "Saruman took his stone back, I see. Just as well. I would not use it again, and risk telling Sauron anything."

"I don't get it," Pippin sighed. "Belrond used the stone, and Saruman got mad. We use it, and he thinks it's terrific. Why?"

"Belrond wasn't important to him, and Belrond never spoke with my father, nor anyone but Sauron, or so I'm guessing, since you said my father didn't know we were here. Saruman was afraid Belrond might figure out his plan and tell us. He was expendable. We're not."

"He doesn't care about us anymore," Pippin pointed out. "We don't have the Ring."

Boromir shook his head. "We're not here to provide him with information any more. We're here as his bargaining weapons."

"But Faramir –"

"Would have figured out what to the stone was," Boromir finished. "He was close; I know the look he had on his face. He would have guessed its purpose, and Saruman's plan. My guess is that he is still alive, simply kept away from us, so that he couldn't tell us anything. I wish I had known . . ."

"It's all right, Boromir," Pippin smiled. "Help is coming."

"That's what he wants! My father doesn't know that Saruman has bred the Uruk-Hai. He won't expect a full army at Isengard. Whoever he sends will be caught off guard, easily, and be forced to accept whatever terms he asks for."

"There must be something we can do," Merry sighed.

Boromir looked around the room for anything that might help them. There was nothing; it was bare, the dark stone walls comfortless, the only light coming from a small window, too small for any of them to fit through. "There isn't," he concluded at last. " If we had the stone, I could tell my father not to send anyone, but we don't. Saruman thought of that, too. He certainly planned this."

"There must be something, something he overlooked."

Boromir sighed. "I wish I knew what it was."

* * *

Faramir wiped the rainwater off his face. It had finally stopped raining, but the sky showed no sign of clearing. He looked out into the distance. For a second, it seemed as if he saw something, black even against the grey clouds. But then it was gone. 

He leaned back and tried to relax, telling himself he had imagined it, that he was becoming delirious, but there it was again. Three black shapes were coming closer, quickly. Faramir leapt to his feet, the dizziness nearly knocking him back down again, but he leaned back against the spike and somehow kept his balance. He had no weapon, no sword, no dagger, now bow. He was defenseless.

One flew in front of the other two, apparently their leader. They were cloaked and hooded all in black, and they rode on huge creatures, the likes of which Faramir had never seen. Servants of Sauron, no doubt.

It all hit him at once. This was the weak thread in Saruman's web. The Enemy had somehow learned of them and wanted the prisoners for himself. Faramir thought quickly. He knew of the Ring. If captured, could he keep Its whereabouts secret from Sauron? Did he have that strength? Could he take that risk?

"No," Faramir whispered, and he leapt off the tower.

But the beasts were quicker. One reached out a long talon and caught him in midair. Faramir felt the claws digging into his side.

"The other son of the Steward," the rider hissed. "Where is he? He used the Stone. Our master knows he is here."

"He's dead!" Faramir shouted, trying to act very frightened. He didn't have to try very hard. "He used the stone, and Saruman killed him! Then he left me here to die! Drop me! I'm of no use to you!" He knew the beast wouldn't, but it added a nice touch to his act.

"Find the traitor," the rider hissed. "And search for others."

* * *

There was a loud crash against the tower. Saruman nearly jumped. He didn't think. He raced to the top of the tower to see what was going on. 

As soon as he saw, he knew he should have stayed. Three Nazgul were there waiting for him. He started to run back down, but one of their beasts took him in its claws. His staff clattered to the floor.

"Finish him," the Nazgul hissed to its beast.

"No!" Faramir shouted, and, mustering all his strength, he reached for Saruman's staff. Before his beast could react, he had it in his hand, and quickly tossed it to Saruman. The Wizard caught it, just as the beast was leaning its head down. Saruman drove the staff into its eye. The monster howled in pain and dropped him. He turned to fight.

"Run!" Faramir shouted. "You can't fight three of them! Run!"

Saruman ran, not without a moment of hesitation, either reluctant to leave Faramir or not quite convinced that fighting three Nazgul was beyond his capabilities. But either way, he turned and fled down the trap door, which was far too small for the Nazgul's beasts. If they wanted him, they would have to follow him on foot.

He knew where he was going. First he ran to grab the Palantir, and then to Boromir and Merry and Pippin. He wasn't going to give Sauron any more prisoners than he had to, though it was more than likely that one would serve his purposes well enough.

The Uruk-Hai would be destroyed; he had no doubt of that. They were no match for the Nazgul, especially if more came. There would be no protection, none.

* * *

Boromir had resumed pacing the room and had just kicked the door again when it flew open. "Come with me, quickly!" Saruman shouted. 

"Why should we?" Boromir demanded.

"Because the Nazgul have come, three of them, and the Witch King is among them." They all stared blankly. "Black Riders!" Saruman shouted. "I see the Halflings understand that. They will soon have control of Isengard. Unless you want to be taken to Mordor, you must trust me now!"

"Where is Faramir?" Boromir shouted.

"They have him," Saruman panted. "There's nothing you can do for him. Please, come with me!" He turned and ran. Boromir followed, either not wanting to be a prisoner of Sauron or having a strong desire to rip Saruman limb from limb. Merry and Pippin hurried to keep up.

Saruman led them down a series of stairs. "They'll have found the main entrance, of course, so we can't go that way. Come. There is a passage that leads through my storeroom. They will not be looking there."

"What if you're wrong?" Boromir called.

"Then I'm dead, and the three of you join Faramir in a fate worse than death!"

Boromir realized he was only saying it to make him angry enough to follow, but he didn't care. His brother, his best friend, was at the mercy of Sauron's servants, and he, Boromir, was powerless to help him.

They were soon outside, and Boromir looked up. There were three terrible, large winged creatures, one of them flying away quickly with Faramir clutched in its claws. Still, two remained, circling the tower.

Saruman looked around frantically. There was no cover, unless . . .

"Hurry," he whispered to the others. "We must take shelter in Fangorn Forest."

Boromir looked up again, desperate for a way to fly up there and rescue Faramir, but there was no hope. The beast that held his little brother was quickly disappearing into the distance. He felt a tug on his arm. "Come on," Merry whispered hurriedly.

* * *

From high overhead, Faramir saw his brother hesitate. Saruman was with him, and the Halflings. Saruman was motioning to the forest. Fangorn Forest. 

At last, after what seemed to Faramir like an eternity, Boromir turned and followed them in. Faramir tried not to make his sigh of relief obvious. They were safe, for now.

The beast didn't notice. It was too busy gripping him tighter and tighter. His arm pressed painfully against his injured side, which three days without food and with little water had not helped to heal. His left arm was as broken as it had been, and he knew that it would find no healing in Mordor. He also knew that, once there, a broken arm would be the least of his worries.

At last, the pain was too much. The beast could squeeze him no tighter. Faramir closed his eyes, and consciousness left him.

* * *

Aragorn turned as a man quietly approached him from behind. He knelt down by the Ranger. "I was too late." 

"You are not to blame. You fought well and bravely where others' courage would have failed." Aragorn could tell the face behind the helmet was young, little more than a boy. He was tall despite his youth, grey-eyed and fair-skinned. Dark hair reached out from under his helmet, long and straight. There was a sadness in his manner and face that told Aragorn without words that this was not the first time he had seen death in battle.

"It is well that you knew they fear fire," the youth said.

"And well that you had some ready."

"The days have been growing darker, as the shadow of Mordor creeps ever closer."

Aragorn nodded. "Then I should not delay. Will you take me to Minas Tirith?"

"What business do you have there?"

"I must speak with Lord Denethor."

"On what matter?"

Aragorn thought quickly. "I am a friend of Mithrandir. That will have to suffice for the present."

"Who should I tell him is coming? To tell him that you are a friend of Mithrandir would not make the best impression on him, I must admit."

"Strider, then, a Ranger who brings word of doings in the North."

"He will be glad to hear it. Long has Gondor stood alone against this ever-growing threat."

Aragorn only nodded. "So many believe. But, come, tell me your name. The Lord Denethor will wish to hear of your courage."

"Mardril, son of Mablung. But you needn't mention me. You have more pressing matters, I am sure."

"Such bravery deserves recognition, Mardril, son of Mablung."

Mardril shook his head. "Bravery is not what we lack. Hope is what we are truly in need of. But Lord Boromir left on an errant to the North -- that is all they will tell us. And now Captain Faramir has disappeared, as well. The soldiers do not know what to think, and are starting to believe that they may never return." He looked up. "You said you come from the North. Have you heard what has happened to them? Any word would be greatly appreciated, by Lord Denethor and by the men."

Aragorn shook his head. "I am sorry. I doubt very much that Boromir was sent so far North to come to the Wild where my kindred live."

"No, I suppose not. But your companion, surely he is no Ranger."

"Nay, a Hobbit, of the Shire, far to the west, past the mountains, near the edge of the Sea."

"What brought him so far from his homeland? Surely the threat of Mordor has not reached those lands."

"No land is safe any more, I fear. But let us not speak of this now." It was taking all his effort to remain formal, and talk of the Shire nearly brought him to tears.

Mardril nodded. "Come. We have horses here. We shall ride for Minas Tirith together, my friend."

* * *

Sam splashed his hand into the water, frustrated. Over the course of three days, he had managed to catch all of two fish, both of which were rather scrawny and sick-looking; he had given these to Gollum, preferring to eat lembas bread. 

To Sam's annoyance, they'd adopted a practice of travelling through the night and stopping for six or seven hours in the middle of the day. They should be stopping soon, Sam realized.

There was an island up ahead. Aragorn had mentioned it, but Sam couldn't pull the name from his memory. It seemed so long ago, and he was so tired. They needed to rest . . .

"Yessss, we sssstopssss here, oh, yessss, Precioussssssss. Musssst resssst. Long waysss to go yet, yesss, long waysssss to go."

Sam looked up. Long ways to go? Did Gollum know the way, then? Did he know how to get to Minas Tirith? Or did he simply mean that they were a long ways behind Aragorn and Frodo?

The two of them paddled wordlessly to shore. Sam wished he could light a fire; the River had turned colder. He stumbled onto the sand, cold and shivering. The sun provided no comfort, now hidden by the clouds. Without a word to Gollum, he lay down and fell instantly asleep.

* * *

**Sagebaby -- **Thank you for reminding me. Sometimes I forget to describe things because I can see them so well in my mind and I forget that not everyone's a telepath who can see the room in my mind. :) 

**xWhit3StaRx -- **Yes, Frodo died. This wasn't some weird dream or something; he really is dead. :) Poor Frodo.

**Lumberjane -- **Yes, as everyone seems to observed, I killed Frodo. Glad you liked him, though.

**Moonyasha -- **Well, I'm glad I can make you laugh and cry in the same story; I guess that says something for the range of emotions I can write. As for Legolas, he's safe for the moment, but I can never guarantee for later. :)

**Anawey -- **Well, there are about a million reasons I could give that would sound pretty good, but I'm making a real endeavor to be truthful here, so the real answer is, I didn't want to have to deal with Frodo and the Ring. Tolkien did it, and he did it perfectly. If I tried to do Frodo in Mount Doom, or in Mordor, for that matter, I would just end up copying Tolkien, and I didn't feel like doing that. I was also curious how Aragorn would react to the Ring, and wanted him to set off for Mordor right away. If Frodo was still alive, they would probably stay in Minas Tirith a while to recover, and I'd have to stall elsewhere, which I really hate doing because it drives me nuts. Yeah, that's the truth. I could say it added to the plot or something, but, really, I just didn't want to do it the same way Tolkien did. :)


	18. Allegiance

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine. Mardril and Thiris are mine. Belrond was mine before he died.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen  
Allegiance

* * *

Silently, Gandalf, Radagast, Legolas, Gimli, and Thiris made their way through Fangorn Forest. Radagast now led the way, with Legolas by his side. Gandalf was a little behind them with the Dwarves, and had several times stopped Gimli from grabbing his axe when there was a sound.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, it seemed, came voices. Legolas looked up, for alone of the group he could hear them perfectly.

"We have to go back!"

"There's nothing you can–"

"I don't care! He's my brother!"

"This would not have happened if you had told me what I wanted to know."

"This wouldn't have happened if you weren't a good-for-nothing miserable traitor!"

"No? Then it would have been servants of Mordor who found you instead of my Uruk-Hai."

"I would kill you right here if it were not for the Halflings!"

Legolas' heart leapt. The Halflings. More than one. Merry and Pippin had been with Boromir, whose voice he had recognized instantly. They were still alive! But what were they doing in Fangorn Forest with Saruman?

He and Gandalf exchanged a look. Gandalf nodded. "Come with me, Legolas. The rest of you stay here. We don't wish to startle Saruman with an entire ambush. A wild beast cornered is not safe to approach."

* * *

"And I'm tempted to, anyway–" 

"Sssssh," Saruman cautioned. "Someone's coming."

"Boromir!" called a voice. "Boromir! Merry! Pippin!" The voice was coming closer.

Boromir's heart raced. "Legolas?"

Merry and Pippin looked up, excitement once more in their faces. "Legolas!" they called out. "Over here!"

Soon, the Elf appeared from behind the trees, followed by a figure robed all in white. Merry and Pippin rushed up to Legolas, shouting for joy. Boromir watched, a smile on his face, then turned to the other figure.

"Hello, Boromir," the stranger said, smiling warmly. "It's good to see you."

"Gandalf?"

Merry and Pippin nearly jumped, then ran over to embrace the Wizard, who knelt down and took them in his arms, all the while shouting questions.

Gandalf laughed. "All in good time, my dear Hobbits. The others are waiting."

"The others? Who's with you? All of them?" Pippin asked hopefully. "Frodo and Sam?"

"Nay; Frodo we must guess has gone one to Mordor, alone or with Sam and Aragorn. But Gimli is alive and with us, as well as another Dwarf who stumbled across their path, and Radagast the Brown."

Pippin grinned even wider. "Great. Now we have three Wizards with us!"

"Indeed," Gandalf nodded, as if noticing Saruman for the first time. "What brings you to Fangorn Forest, Saruman, and in such unusual company?"

"Do not mock me, Gandalf. My plans may be shattered, but I still have my powers."

"Ah. Again your plans have gone amiss. In that we are alike, it would seem. Yet good may come of it yet. Come, let us go to the others, and we may have the tale in full."

* * *

They followed the path back to the others. Gimli almost leapt for joy to see others of the Fellowship. 

While they were all rejoicing, Gandalf took Thiris aside. "Saruman and I must speak. Take the Hobbits a little ways off and tell them a story. And make it long."

Thiris sighed, but nodded. "Merry! Pippin!" she called, and they were soon gone.

Gandalf smiled. "Come, sit down, all of you. Much has happened, to all of us."

They all proceeded to tell their tales. Gandalf first told of his fight with the Balrog and how Gwaihir had brought him to Lothlorien. Legolas and Gimli told of their ambush by the Uruk-Hai and how they had met Thiris and Radagast. Lastly, Boromir spoke, and not even Saruman interrupted him.

When he had finished, Gandalf turned to Saruman. "It would seem your plan _has_ failed, terribly. One of your prisoners is dead and another is now a captive of Sauron. Orthanc is taken and the Uruk-Hai will be destroyed. Your powers remain, but it would be unwise to fight all of us single-handedly. Were it even only Radagast and myself, it would still be dangerous. There is another way, Saruman. Join us. Your knowledge of the Enemy is great. Will you help us?"

"Your hope is in vain, Gandalf. You must know that. But if we had the Ring, we could use it against Sauron and–"

Gandalf shook his head. "That matter is out of our hands. The Ring is on its way to Mordor, in the hands of a Hobbit named Frodo Baggins. We hope that he is accompanied by his gardener, Samwise Gamgee, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir."

"Isildur's Heir? The line yet exists?"

"Oh, yes, Saruman. There is hope yet for men, if you choose to see it."

Saruman looked from one to another. At last, his eyes came to rest on Boromir. "And what of his brother? Do you claim to have hope for him, as well?"

Boromir looked up, a fire in his eyes, but Gandalf remained undaunted. "The only hope for Faramir now is the hope that we all share, that the Ring will be destroyed, and with it Sauron. Faramir may yet be saved."

"So that is your plan, to destroy the One Ring. Does Faramir know of this?"

"Yes," Boromir answered, looking once again at the ground. "I told him. He was being held prisoner; he deserved to know why."

"And if he tells the Enemy of your plans?"

"Then all is lost," Gandalf admitted. "But I have faith in Faramir. He told nothing to you, and he will tell nothing to Sauron."

Saruman shook his head wearily. "A Hobbit, his gardener, a wandering ranger, and the younger son of the Steward of Gondor. Quite an odd group to place so much trust in, Gandalf."

"We no longer have a choice. Things have now been set into motion that cannot be undone. I do indeed wish that the Fellowship had never been separated, and that Faramir had not been captured, and that Belrond, whom I also knew, had not died. But the past is past, Saruman. Now is the time for choices that will affect the future. Will you join us, Saruman?"

Saruman looked Gandalf straight in the eye, and it seemed that something in his dark eyes cleared, and he looked at the other Wizard and smiled. "We should go first to Edoras. Orthanc is lost, but Rohan is not completely weak. The King's nephew, Eomer, is strong, and now King Theoden will help us, as well. From there we should ride for Gondor, along with as much of Rohan's army as will accompany us. Boromir used the Palantir; by now the Enemy knows that neither he nor his brother is in Minas Tirith. Denethor is alone, left with only the hope that his sons might be rescued. Sauron will not hesitate to strike when the City is at its weakest." He handed Gandalf the bag he carried in his hand. "The Stone of Orthanc. I surrender it to you as a token of my good faith. Be careful how you use it, Gandalf; the Enemy is cunning."

"This I know, Saruman, and you are right. It should not be used except by the rightful owner."

"If you have told me the truth, the rightful owner is walking into the heart of Mordor with two little Halflings."

"That is our hope, since your Uruk-Hai have not brought you word of the three of them, but were content to capture three "Halflings" and the so-called King and Steward of Gondor."

"I never said they were intelligent," Saruman mumbled.

"You were right not to. No one who had seen them would have believed you for a second. But come; it is time we relieved Thiris of the Hobbits, or them of her, whichever the case may be." He headed off to find them. Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir followed.

Saruman turned to Radagast, who had remained quiet the entire time, and now seemed lost in his own thoughts. "Do you believe him?"

"Can Middle-Earth be saved? Is that what you are asking?"

"Yes."

"I trust Gandalf. His advice has never yet proven ill. I admit that our hope depends on a great deal of strength from people who may appear to have little to give. I have never met these Hobbits, nor Aragorn or Faramir. But I know that Men and probably Hobbits as well can show great courage and strength when the need comes, courage and strength that even they may not have known they had. Gandalf has every confidence in them. And I have every confidence in Gandalf. Hope is all we have left, it would seem, but it may yet prove to be enough."

* * *

Boromir was fuming. "After all he's done! After capturing the five of us! Killing Belrond! Leaving Faramir to the Nazgul! You expect us to trust him?" 

"I'm with Boromir," Gimli agreed. "We can't trust him."

"Agreed," Legolas nodded. "He could still be dangerous."

Gandalf sighed. "Yes, he is, but that could prove useful to us, now that Sauron considers him a traitor. I do not expect any of you to trust him, least of all you, Boromir. I only ask you to accept that, at the moment, we need his cooperation, and not only that. We need _him._"

* * *

Aragorn was silent as he and Mardril rode for Minas Tirith. He held his horse's reins loosely in one hand, the other holding Frodo's lifeless body close to his own. Mardril, too, was silent at his side, leading the way a little but never pulling too far ahead. 

The grey clouds rolled gently above them as they rode through the streets of Minas Tirith. Aragorn followed Mardril closely though he himself knew the way. People stared as the passed and Mardril picked up his pace. Aragorn followed his lead gratefully.

The pair dismounted as a man came out to greet them. "Mardril!" he called, running up to them. "What has happened?"

"This is Strider, a Ranger of the North; he seeks an audience with Lord Denethor."

"I will not be staying in Minas Tirith long," Aragorn added, "and I may not return. Would you see that my companion is . . . treated with honor. I would do so myself were my errand not so urgent."

The man nodded, and Aragorn placed Frodo's body in his arms. He stroked the Hobbit's hair gently. "His journey is over. May he find the peace he deserves."

"Come," Mardril beckoned, laying a hand on Aragorn's arm. "Let us go."

Aragorn followed Mardril to Denethor's hall, and waited at the entrance while Mardril introduced him. At last, Denethor nodded and Aragorn came forward. "I am told you bring news?" Denethor asked, and he seemed to Aragorn rather pale, as if he had not eaten or slept much recently, even by his own standards.

Aragorn nodded, desperately thinking of all the news he could come up with without giving away anything the Steward shouldn't know. "Months ago Erebor was visited by a Messenger of Mordor and offered allegiance with Sauron. They refused; it is likely that Erebor and Laketown are now under siege. The Elves of Mirkwood still hold out against the Enemy, as they do in Lothlorien and in Rivendell. It goes ill for Rohan, I fear. Saruman has bred an army and is in league with the Enemy."

Denethor looked up at this last bit. "This is indeed news, if it can be trusted. Where do you come from, that you bring word of so many distant lands?"

"From the North, my lord, but I have recently traveled through different lands."

"And your companion?"

"A Hobbit of the Shire, my friend for quite some time. He begged me to allow him to accompany me on my journey, and I obliged. I see now it was a mistake. Hobbits are not warriors, though they are pleasant company."

Denethor nodded. "Then this is the only Hobbit you knew?"

"I know many who are still in the Shire. We were accompanied by one other, Samwise Gamgee, but we were separated. If he should somehow find his way here, please do not permit him to follow me; he would certainly get lost. Here he will be safer than alone in the Wild."

"Indeed. These were the only two that came with you?"

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, wondering where the Steward was going.

"And what is your errand here?"

"I was sent as a messenger with the news I have just given you."

Denethor nodded. "Then you have no word to bring me of either of my sons?"

Aragorn tried to look surprised. "No. Mardril told me they had left the City, but I have not seen either of them in my travels. But the Wild is large, my lord. One traveller may easily be missed by another, or even three."

"Indeed." He studied Aragorn thoroughly. "Come with me."

Aragorn followed Denethor out of the room and up a flight of stairs to a small room. In the middle of a small table was a round black ball. Aragorn nodded, trying not to look as surprised as he was. "A Palantir?"

"I see that you have some knowledge of lore as well as skill in battle. Yes, a Palantir of the Kings of Old, one of seven. Saruman has possession of the Stone of Orthanc, and Boromir has recently used it to speak to me."

"From Isengard?"

"Yes. He and Faramir are prisoners there, along with two of these Hobbits of the Shire. I thought perhaps they had stumbled upon some trap, but I would now guess that they were taken captive by this army you spoke of."

Aragorn looked up. "Have you sent aid?"

"Not yet."

"This is well. You would be walking into a trap. Even if you sent as many men as would be needed to defeat Saruman's army, you would leave yourself open to attack from the East."

"Am I to stay here and risk my sons' lives?"

"I doubt very much that Saruman will kill them. It would give him no advantage. They are useful to him only as hostages to be bartered."

"Minas Tirith needs leadership, Strider. We _need_ Boromir."

"Then send a messenger to Theoden of Rohan. He will help."

Denethor thought for a moment. "Send a messenger, you say? Will you go, Strider, along with two or three companions, perhaps?"

Aragorn knew he had to think fast. If he said no, Denethor would wish to know why, and he couldn't tell him. If he said yes, he might be able to slip away and continue on to Mordor alone.

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I will go. But a fewer number would be the best, so as not to be seen by Saruman, for he has spies. I would therefore request that only Mardril accompany me."

Denethor nodded. "You choose your friends well; Mardril is an able soldier, and a brave man, though he be little older than a child. So it shall be. You may leave as soon as you wish."

"If it is well with you, I should wish to depart in the morning. I have been on the road long, and have not had a restful sleep for quite some time."

Denethor smiled. "So be it. If I do not see you again before you depart, I wish you success."

Aragorn smiled. "And I wish you and all of Gondor nothing but the best, my lord. May we meet again someday, and have time for more than news. Farewell."

Denethor watched Aragorn leave, a smile on his face. Should he ever return, he thought, this man showed promise.

* * *

Aragorn met Mardril outside Denethor's hall. "We have an important errand, Mardril. My news meant more than I had guessed. Lord Denethor's sons have been taken prisoner by Saruman and are at Isengard, but we cannot spare any from our own army to rescue them. We are to bring word to King Theoden of Rohan, you and I." Aragorn realized too late that he had said "we" and "our army," but Mardril did not seem to notice. 

"Very well," the soldier nodded. "You should take some rest, Strider. Come with me; I will find you a room."

Aragorn followed Mardril into an empty bedroom. "I shall see you later, then," Mardril nodded, and left.

Aragorn looked around, then lay down on the bed, letting all of his sadness and frustration and confusion flow from him as he was engulfed in sleep's arms.

* * *

**Anawey -- **Yes, it will definitely be interesting to see how Aragorn does it. Frankly, I'm not quite sure yet what's going to happen, with him or with Faramir, because if Faramir slips just once, well, it's over. :) Poor guy, but I had to do it. He wasn't doing any good back at Isengard, and now I can use it as mental torture for poor Boromir. Muahahahaha. I always end up doing that to my favorite characters, and those two are such a great pair to torture. :) Aragorn's going to be good, too, now that Frodo is dead and he thinks Sam is dead and now he knows Boromir and Merry and Pippin are alive. :) And now Saruman is working with them, or at least so it appears. Not quite sure what to do with him yet, but I think he'd have the sense not to fight Gandalf and Radagast together. :) So he's with them for now. But for how long? Muahahahahahaha.


	19. The Board is Set

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine. Any names you see that you really don't recognize are probably mine.

A/N: Much to my annoyance, someone finally decided to make it illegal to post reviewer responses with the chapter. Oh, well. If someone asks a question about the story that I really think deserves an answer, I'll just put it in one of these. If you just want to know, for instance, why I haven't updated in so long, you'll probably get an e-mail instead, unless you review anonymously, in which case I'll just say that I haven't been updating because first there was Christmas break when I was in Virginia for about a week and then in Wisconsin for a couple days, and then there are these things called exams and this thing called Calculus which I despise. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year a little late.

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen  
****The Board is Set**

Alone.

It was the one thought which haunted Sam even as he slept. Except for Gollum, he was completely alone. Alone on this island, and perhaps alone in all of Middle-Earth.

Could the others be alive somehow? Merry and Pippin? Boromir? Legolas and Gimli? Could Frodo have somehow reached Aragorn's boat? Or was he following the Anduin River in vain, only to come to Minas Tirith and find nothing?

"Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee," Gandalf had said. But he had lost Frodo. He had failed. Maybe it wasn't his fault, but that didn't change what had happened, or what was going to happen.

What if Frodo had drowned, he had to wonder. Would the Ring remain hidden in the Anduin River forever? It had been hidden there once before, and had taken over two thousand years to be found again.

But they could no longer count on such luck. No one had been searching for it back then. Now there were Orcs, Uruk-Hai, and, above all, Black Riders. Surely someone, or something, would find it, were it lost.

And that would be the end. Even for one small Hobbit alone on a seemingly barren island, it would be the end. Only the Elves could escape. And not all would. Surely some would choose to stay and fight. Legolas . . .

Which brought him right back to wondering if Legolas could even be alive. Aragorn had said he believed they were, but what had happened to them since then? Where were they going? Surely if they were still on the Anduin, they would have caught up to a Hobbit floating on a log.

So they had gone elsewhere. But where? There were so many places that would need help, he realized. Elves. Dwarves. Men in both Rohan and Gondor. Where would a stray Elf and Dwarf choose to go? To their own lands? Or to wherever was closest?

And Boromir, surely he would want to go to Gondor. Yet he had not found Sam, either, and the Hobbit still had a close eye out for any friends. Something must have happened.

Sam rolled over, right onto a twig, and woke with a start. He had not been sleeping soundly, anyway, he realized. It was nearly nighttime; Gollum would soon be waking from where he lay nearby, insisting that they move on as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, Sam heard a twig snap behind him. He whirled around, to face two men with bows.

"Not one move," said the one in front. "Not one move or we will shoot."

* * *

Radagast and Saruman looked up as the others came back. Gandalf and Boromir each carried a sleeping Hobbit in their arms. Radagast grinned. "Thiris, what were you telling them?"

"The history of Middle-Earth," Thiris sighed, and the others couldn't tell whether she was joking or not. "In Elvish," she added.

"That should have made it more interesting," Radagast grinned with a look at Legolas.

Thiris shrugged. "Not if you don't know Elvish. So what happened while I was gone?"

"Saruman has agreed to accompany us to Edoras," Gandalf answered. "From there we will go to Gondor, where our aid is no doubt greatly needed."

Thiris nodded. "Welcome back, Saruman."

Boromir jumped up. That was the last straw. "'Welcome back'? Do you have any idea what he's done? He's responsible for the Uruk-Hai that attacked all of us, and nearly killed Legolas. Because of him, an innocent boy is dead, and my brother is on his way to Mordor to endure who-knows-what fate! And all you can say is 'Welcome back'?"

Thiris cocked an eyebrow, being altogether too calm for the Gondorian's liking. "What would you like me to say? What do you want, Boromir? Do you want to kill him?"

Boromir glared at the Dwarf. No, he didn't want the Wizard dead, but was that only because he could be of such help? Either way, that fact alone was enough. What he wanted didn't matter. What Middle-Earth needed mattered, and it needed all the help it could get.

Boromir answered at last. "What I want depends on him. What do you really want, Saruman? Are you only helping us to save yourself, or are you truly interested in helping the rest of Middle-Earth?"

"Either way, I am helping, am I not?"

"But are you doing so willingly or unwillingly?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't think you want to help us at all. You just don't want to fight us, either. Not without your army, you coward."

"You are entirely right, Boromir; I have no intention of fighting you at the moment. How many in my position would? I am willing to work with you. It benefits us all. I am willing to put motives aside and focus on what we have in common. Are you?"

"What do we possibly have in common?"

"A secret that we all now share, Boromir. A secret that has the power to save or destroy all of Middle-Earth. We share that knowledge. And don't forget that the Enemy now considers me a traitor. I am no more his ally now than Gandalf, or Radagast. Or you."

"And that makes us the same?"

"No. But it gives us all a common interest, a common goal. Is your anger over Belrond's death or your brother's capture so great that you will not see the possibilities of what can happen now that our strength is united? Are you willing to take me as an ally? Can we have peace, you and I?"

Boromir watched the Wizard intently. Peace. It seemed such an empty word now. What was peace between two people now that all of Middle-Earth had been plunged into war? What was his choice? It wouldn't change anything. Gandalf would spare Saruman's life regardless of what Boromir thought. They would still go to Edoras, and to Gondor. Did it make any difference?

No, not in the big picture. This was small, personal. It was simply between Saruman and himself.

Boromir sighed. Saruman had told the group how Faramir had saved him from the Nazgul. His own brother, who had been closer to Belrond, who had directly been the victim of Saruman's cruelty, had saved him. He had helped the Wizard. Faramir had wanted peace. Even Belrond had shown respect for Saruman to the last. Why did he, Boromir of Gondor, find such a simple thing so difficult?

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes. For Belrond's sake. For Faramir's. For the sake of Middle-Earth, yes. We shall have peace."

* * *

Sam looked up fearfully at the two men. He had no doubt that they would, indeed, shoot, if he gave them the least excuse to do so. Their bows were ready, their eyes watching him unblinkingly.

Sam managed to look around enough without turning his head, enough to see that Gollum was still asleep, undisturbed. He then turned his gaze back to the men. Both were tall, cloaked and hooded in green and brown. "Who are you?" he asked.

"We might ask the same, stranger," said the one in front, apparently the leader.

"I am Samwise Gamgee, a Hobbit of the Shire."

The men glanced at each other, apparently not believing him. The leader motioned to the darkness behind him, and three more men stepped out of the shadows.

This, at last, woke Gollum, who tried immediately to run. One of the newcomers caught him quickly and dragged him back, Gollum screaming all the way.

"It's all right, Gollum!" Sam called to his companion. "They're not going to hurt us!"

"What makes you so sure?" their leader asked.

Sam remembered what Aragorn had told them in Bree. "If you had wanted to kill us, you would have done so already, without so much talk."

Their leader actually smiled, throwing back his hood to reveal a pale face, dark hair, and grey eyes. "Well spoken, little one. You claim to be a Hobbit of the Shire, of which I have never heard. Is your companion from there, as well?"

"No, from the Misty Mountains," Sam answered, desperately hoping he had remembered Bilbo's story right and Gollum wouldn't object. "We mean no harm to you or to Gondor."

"I doubt the two of you alone could do much harm even if you meant it. It was our fear that you were spies, but spies would not be so careless as to sleep out here in the open. Where are you bound, my friends?"

"Minas Tirith," Sam answered without hesitation. "We're following another like myself and a Man. Have you seen them?"

"Nay, we have not, but do not give up hope, little friend, for it is possible they have passed by us unnoticed. Come. We will take you to our camp. In the morning we will set out for Minas Tirith."

"We?"

"I shall accompany you, to ease any fears the others may still have of your intentions. Have you a boat?"

Sam shook his head. "None."

The man looked puzzled. "How did you come here?"

"We were floating on logs down the river, Sir."

"Quite a determined little traveller, are we?"

"Well, I have to find my friends. We were separated in a storm. They still have the boat we were travelling in."

"I see. Storms are becoming more and more common, as the shadow of Mordor grows closer. Come. Our camp is not far. Have you eaten recently?"

"Nothing but raw fish."

The man smiled at Sam's expression. "We shall soon change that. I can't offer you much, but it's better than raw fish, at any rate."

"Thank you, Sir. I don't believe I'll ever be able to repay you properly for your hospitality."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, little friend. You see, on our way to Minas Tirith, we shall pass near to the city of Osgiliath, and I have been wanting news of my son for quite a while."

"Your son?"

"Yes. Even the youngest of us have become soldiers in these times. He is little more than a boy, my son is. I fear what may come of it, but it cannot be helped."

"Well, I hope your son's all right, Mister . . ."

"Mablung. And your name was . . ."

"Sam. Sam Gamgee."

"Well, Sam, I hope your friends are in Minas Tirith right now, waiting for you."

"So do I," Sam nodded. "So do I."

* * *

Boromir looked around; he couldn't sleep. The others seemed to do so easily, all except Gandalf, who stood away by himself, staring into the distance.

Slowly, Boromir got up and made his way over to the Wizard. "I couldn't sleep," he admitted.

Gandalf turned. "You're worried about Faramir."

"So are you. I know you care for him. Every time you came to Minas Tirith, Mithrandir, he listened to every word you said. He spent as much time with you as he possibly could. You were a father to him in a way our father never was. You accepted him for who he was, not who you wanted him to be."

"Denethor could never see how lucky he was, Boromir, to have two sons like you and Faramir. Your differences make you stronger as a whole."

"You like Faramir better."

"I know him better."

"You weren't sure if I would be a help to the Fellowship."

"You had your own plans, Boromir, to go to Minas Tirith."

"I still do."

"But now that is our plan, as well, and the Ring is no longer with us."

"I tried to convince Aragorn to come to Gondor, before going on to Mordor. I thought we could rest there, replenish our supplies, sleep without having to keep constant watch."

"And what did he think?"

"What do you think he thought?"

"That it would be too dangerous, that you would want to use the Ring to defend Gondor."

"He may have been right, Mithrandir. It was what Denethor would have wanted, had the Ring been taken there."

"Yes, I think it is safe to assume that is what your father would want."

"So Aragorn was right."

"Yes, in a way."

All was silent for a moment. Finally, Boromir spoke. "Gandalf, before we went to Moria, I said it would be no better than knocking on the door of the Black Tower. You said no, that those who pass the gates of Barad-Dur do not return."

"Yes, I did."

"Then . . . is Saruman right, as well? Is there no hope for Faramir? Even if the Ring is destroyed, will they not kill him first?"

"Time, Boromir. Everything is now a question of time. Our hope lies in speed and the secrecy of Frodo and those who still travel with him."

Boromir stared out into the darkness. "I was always there to protect him, Gandalf. I always thought that . . . whatever we would face, we would face it together. I wish I could have done something, anything."

"There was nothing you could have done. Faramir told nothing to Saruman, which is no easy task. He chose freely to be the target of Saruman's anger, knowing full well what might come of it. For that, he was the first one that the Black Riders found. And yet he was able to save Saruman's life, which will give us a better chance. Boromir, I have a feeling your brother is stronger than anyone knows, just as Hobbits are tougher than they appear, once put to the test. And just as you, Boromir, are different than I saw you at the council. I thought your intentions might place the Company in danger. I was wrong. Your strengths outweigh your weaknesses, Boromir, son of Denethor. I believe it is also so with Faramir."

Boromir smiled. The darkness seemed to lift a little, and his heart felt lighter. There was hope yet. He turned to go back to the others. "Good night, Gandalf."

"Good night, Boromir."

* * *

"Those who pass the gates of Barad-Dur do not return," Gandalf had said. Faramir had no way of knowing it as he awoke, but he had not been taken to Barad-Dur. But the place mattered not. He knew that death, or worse, awaited him, wherever he was taken.

The Nazgul's beast dropped him, none too gently, to the stone floor, among dozens of Orcs. "Search him," the Nazgul hissed.

Faramir didn't struggle. He had no reason to; the Orcs would not find what they sought. In fact, they hardly found anything; the Uruk-Hai had already taken his weapons, and he had brought nothing of value with him.

The Nazgul gave no indication of being surprised, or of anything, for that matter. "He is the son of the Steward of Gondor; that alone is enough to serve us. But he may know other things."

Faramir knew better than to protest. If he said he knew nothing, it would only make them surer that he did, indeed, know something of importance. Instead, he tried to do his best to keep a blank expression, as if he didn't know what they were talking about, as if he wasn't frightened out of his wits.

Although Faramir could see no eyes, he sensed that the Nazgul was studying him, watching for any reaction, any sign of what he was thinking. He tried to give none. Whether it worked or not, he could not tell.

"We shall keep him here," the Nazgul said, "until we are sure he can be of use. Then we will take him to the Dark Tower."

Faramir's immediately figured it out. So he wasn't in Barad-Dur, as he might have otherwise guessed. There was only one other reasonable choice: Minas Morgul. Not that it mattered at all where he was. It was what was going to happen that mattered.

And he had already determined that in his mind. He would tell them nothing. Not one word. Let them think he couldn't speak, for all he cared, as long as they learned nothing. He might be killed, but if they learned where the Ring was, he_ would_ be, along with the rest of Middle-Earth.

"Bind him," the Nazgul ordered.

Once again, Faramir found himself bound hand and foot, his arm and chest burning with pain. He was too weak to struggle; weak from three days without food and with little water. And he was about to face more, much more . . .

* * *

Muahahahaha. Don't we just love it when a chapter ends like that:)


	20. A Promise Lives

Disclaimer: It's not mine.

A/N: Yeah, I know, the update took forever. Everyone seems to want to know what happens to Faramir and Aragorn, so here you go . . .

* * *

**Chapter Twenty  
****A Promise Lives**

He had told them nothing. It was the only comfort the younger son of Denethor had, hanging helpless and alone in what he now knew was Minas Morgul. He had said nothing of the Ring. He had told them nothing. His screams of pain had probably reached Barad-Dur, but they would get no information.

They had left him alone at first, perhaps to give him time to think over what they guessed he would be debating: whether or not to save his own life by telling them what they wanted to know. Instead, he had gotten a good look at the room. The walls were stone, dark grey and black. There was a window off to one side, but the room was otherwise bare.

Then they had come -- two ugly Orcs, one with a whip and the other with an assortment of knives. They had strung him up where he now hung, dangling by his wrists about a foot above the floor. His shirt was gone, his chest and back torn and bloody. His broken left arm shot lightning through his body despite his futile attempts to focus his weight on his right. The ropes were tight about his wrists, but several times already, one of them had broken and he had been left hanging painfully by one arm until the two Orcs found a new rope. Only once had they been kind enough to break at the same time, and he had crashed to the floor, hitting his head before he was able to realize he should break the fall. His feet were still tied at the ankles, and he doubted his legs would have been able to support him even if he had somehow landed on his feet.

His two tormenters could not have been more different in their cruelty. The one with the whip was careless with his technique. He didn't care where he hit Faramir as long as he inflicted the pain he had intended. Faramir's arms, chest, and back were lined with marks from the whip. His legs still stung through the fabric of his pants, and even his hands and feet had occasionally been hit by a wild swing of the whip.

The Orc with the knives, however, was painfully careful about his work. He would first choose just the knife he wanted, leaving Faramir in the agony of suspense of what was to come. He would then eye Faramir with a superior look, as if the human were merely a child's toy to be dealt with at his leisure. Then he would make his cut.

Sometimes it was a quick, whip-like strike. Sometimes it was terribly slow, as the Orc dragged the blade slowly through his flesh. Sometime it ran along or crossed a line already made by his companion's whip, causing the pain to intensify. Sometimes he struck an untouched peace of skin, and fresh agony flared up. Sometimes the cut was deep, and blood poured from the wound. Sometimes it was shallow, but stung terribly from one of the Orc's special kind of knives. But no matter what he did, Faramir was convinced he planned each stroke carefully beforehand, knowing exactly which would be the most painful at the time. He was also careful, careful not to let him lose too much blood, and slip into unconsciousness. No, he wanted his prisoner awake, alive, feeling every moment of his work.

Near the end, the Orc with the whip had tired of his weapon and resorted to a swift kick in the chest or a slash across the face with his claws. Faramir's face felt on fire, and his vision was blurred by blood coming down from his forehead. His injured ribs were almost certainly broken; he doubted if they would ever fully heal, even if he were somehow rescued and treated.

He was alone again now, in the darkness of pain and emptiness, and even the beginnings of despair. Even if the others were to come for him, surely by then they would find nothing but an unrecognizable bundle of flesh and clothes.

Boromir would blame himself, Faramir knew. He would say he could have done something, when, really, no one could have done anything to stop this.

Boromir. Where was Boromir now? And the Halflings, Merry and Pippin? He had seen them fleeing into Fangorn Forest; would they be safe there? Would Saruman, his tower taken, his army defeated, consent to help the others? The Nazgûl had tried to kill him; surely he would not wish to serve Sauron any more.

But where would they go? That depended, he decided, on where the Nazgûl went. Would they be content with the capture of Isengard, or would they move against Rohan, as well? Would they all return to Mordor to oppose Minas Tirith, or was such aid not needed? With both Boromir and himself gone, did Minas Tirith truly have any hope?

If only . . . If only either of them had stayed. If only the Uruk-Hai had not found them. If only Gandalf were alive. If only their city had the strength it had once possessed. If only . . .

But it was all useless hoping. It was only a matter of time before Sauron would move against Gondor, and that would be the end, unless help came from elsewhere. But where? What army did Rohan still have, and would they come? How much of their forces had the Uruks already destroyed? What strength was still hidden in the silent, forgotten corners of Middle-Earth?

And from the most silent of all, he realized, had come their only hope. Out of the Shire, as far from Gondor as he could have imagined, had come the one hope for all of Middle-Earth. Only by the miracle of the Ring's destruction could Gondor be saved. Only then did any of them have a chance.

Faramir slowly raised his head to look out the window of the tower. It was dark, either night or sunless day. No stars shone through the dark clouds above Minas Morgul. No light at all in this land of darkness, save the dim flare of the Orc-torches. No light. No comfort.

Except hope.

* * *

Aragorn and Mardril stood together, watching as the flaming wood of Frodo's funeral pyre engulfed the Hobbit's small body. Aragorn no longer held back his tears. This was the end. Somehow, seeing this made it final, made it real at last. Frodo's body was turning to ashes, but his spirit was at peace. It was he who must now continue their Quest.

Aragorn heard Denethor come up behind them. He turned and bowed graciously. "My lord."

"It is early, Strider. You said you would leave in the morning."

"Indeed, I did, but I have slept enough, and there were things that needed to be done ere our departure." He held out Sting and Frodo's Mithril shirt. "If our other companion does happen to find his way here, please give these to him. And, if you would, do not let him follow us; I fear for his safety. This is the safest haven within many days' travel."

"You speak the truth, though not as safe as it would be, were Boromir here to protect it." He took the sword and shirt. "I shall do as you ask, though it will not be pleasant news that your companion receives from me."

"Indeed. Thank you, my lord."

"There are two horses waiting for you; Mardril knows the way. Our horses cannot equal those of Rohan, but they are swift and sure-footed, and will bear you well."

"Thank you, my lord. I shall do my best to repay your hospitality with the success of our journey."

"I will be most grateful, Strider. Gondor's need is great. Farewell, and may fortune be in your favor." He headed back the way he had come.

Aragorn stood there staring into the flames, feeling absolutely terrible. He knew now how Boromir had felt about the Fellowship's decision. Doing what was best for Middle-Earth meant sacrificing what was best for Gondor. And now, on the brink of doing it himself, he felt nothing less than a traitor.

Yet he had no choice. The Fellowship had been broken. He was the only one left to go to Mordor in Frodo's place. No matter how it made him feel, it had to be done.

_"I will finish what you began, Frodo," _he promised silently as the flames rose still higher. _"I promise you, I will see it through to the end. The Shire will be saved, the green land you loved so much. I promise, Frodo, I will not fail."

* * *

_

Sam was roused early by Mablung, who told him that if they set out immediately, they could reach Minas Tirith by nightfall. Sam agreed readily and woke Gollum, who had fallen asleep even sooner than he had.

The Men had been hospitable, but Sam still hadn't been able to sleep well. He was tired, but far too worried to sleep. Now, as he, Gollum, and Mablung climbed into the boat, he felt his heart begin to race. Now he would find out for sure what had happened. Either Frodo and Aragorn would be waiting for him . . . or they wouldn't. Whichever, he would know before nightfall.

Mablung paddled silently while Sam ate his breakfast. Gollum stared expectantly over the side of the boat, watching for fish, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, for Sam saw several fish swim right by them, and Gollum took no notice. His mind was on the Ring and its bearer, for a completely different reason than Sam's.

Mablung was silent, and made no attempt at conversation. Surely he had other things on his own mind, Sam realized. He was going to see his son for the first time in who-knew-how-long. How long would they spend in Osgiliath, Sam wondered worriedly, but then scolded himself. This man had as much right to see his own son as he had to see Frodo. Surely if his companions had waited for him this long, they could wait while he was in Osgiliath.

Which brought yet another thought to him. Would Frodo wait? Were he and Aragorn still in Minas Tirith, or would they continue on to Mordor without him, if they thought he might be dead? They had left the others, as much as they'd hated to do it. Would they leave him, as well?

Perhaps they would want to rest, Sam reasoned. That had been the reason for going to Minas Tirith, to rest and recover, and then set out for Mordor with renewed strength. Even if they weren't waiting for him, they would at least wait a little while.

He had to keep up hope, he decided as he stared off down the River. It was the only thing to do now.

* * *

Boromir awoke at the crack of dawn to find the others asleep, except for the three Wizards, who were talking a little further away, so as not to wake anyone. He got up slowly and made his way over to them, making as little noise as possible.

"How soon can we be off?" he asked anxiously.

Gandalf looked up. "Let them sleep a while, Boromir. The Hobbits, at least, have not had a decent rest in a while, and the same for you."

Boromir nodded. "Yes, but my heart tells me the need for haste is great. I fear what may come of too long a delay."

"Rushing into danger while exhausted is not any better of an idea," Saruman countered.

"I would hardly call walking all the way to Edoras rushing into danger," Boromir pointed out.

"Nor would I," Radagast agreed. "But we will not be walking to Edoras. There are horses waiting for us on the border of the Forest. We shall ride for Edoras with all speed, Boromir. No more time will be wasted than need be."

"We will wake the others soon," Gandalf nodded, "for the Hobbits may find rest on the way there, riding with one of us."

"How many horses are there?" Boromir asked.

"Five," Gandalf answered. "For you and Pippin, myself and Merry, Legolas and Gimli, Thiris and Radagast, and Saruman."

Boromir nodded. The Wizard had planned this well, indeed. No time would even be lost in deciding who would ride together.

"Thank you, Gandalf," he nodded. "Radagast. Saruman."

"It's best for all of us, Boromir," Saruman nodded. "Better to move to Gondor's aid while our enemy is still gathering his forces. When he strikes, he will strike hard and fast, and if no aid is sent to Gondor, it will be the end. That is why we must hope for Theoden's assistance."

"Yes," Gandalf agreed. "Always our plans seem dependent on hope. But I believe Théoden will help us, now that the threat of Isengard is no more. He may not be as accepting of you as Boromir, but I cannot believe he will be blind to the need of all of Middle-Earth."

Boromir blinked. Had Gandalf just called him accepting? He, who had wanted to kill Saruman at first, and then had only made peace because the Wizard could be of help? This was Gandalf's idea of acceptance?

Or would acceptance grow, as they worked together? Already he was beginning to see these three Wizards as alike; would he eventually learn to forget what Saruman had done? No, he would never forget it, but he could learn to see past it, to see the wise Wizard Saruman had once been, and would be again.

Three Wizards. Perhaps there was hope for Middle-Earth, after all.

* * *

Aragorn was silent as Mardril led him to the stables. He had a plan to escape the child, but it would take time. It would be so much simpler to just slip the Ring on and disappear . . .

No! He forced the thought from his mind, surprised at himself. He'd had his hand in his pocket, ready to slip the Ring on his finger. He truly realized now the burden that Frodo had carried, having this temptation every moment. He would have to be careful, he realized. He couldn't trust even his own thoughts.

But he knew he had to trust his decision to leave Mardril. As much as he wanted to help Boromir, Faramir, Merry, and Pippin, the safety of Middle-Earth had to come first. The Ring had to be destroyed at any price . . .

At any price. Was he willing to sacrifice more lives for the success of their Quest? Gandalf, Frodo, and probably Sam, as well, had already given their lives for it. Could he now leave others of their Fellowship to possible death, just to destroy . . .

What? A ring? Sauron? Evil? Boromir had called the Ring "such a little thing," and surely it was, but it was a little thing with tremendous power. But would it truly be evil to use that power to save lives, rather than to destroy?

Aragorn climbed into the saddle, his mind still on the Ring. Why was he going over this again? They'd decided all this at the council. He'd argued for the destruction of the Ring. Why did it no seem so hard to decide?

Mardril sighed, and looked suddenly sadder as they started to ride off. Aragorn shook himself from his own thoughts. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Mardril insisted. "I just . . . I wish I could've said good-bye to my father."

Aragorn was snapped back to reality instantly, and was suddenly reminded that he was, indeed, talking to a boy.

They rode in silence for a while, neither one wishing to say what was on his mind. At last, when knew they were far enough away from the City, Aragorn decided to put his plan to work. But first, he needed the boy to talk a little more. "So where is your father?" he asked.

Mardril turned in surprise. "At Cair Andros. I haven't seen him in weeks."

Aragorn nodded. "It must be difficult."

"I've heard a lot of people say that," the boy nodded. "Really, though, it's not as difficult as they think. I have my own duties to attend to; I don't really have time to think about how much I miss him. My mother says I'm too young, but I want . . . if this is really the end . . . I want to defend Gondor. I know I can't make any real difference by myself, but if I die, I want to die a soldier, not a child cringing in fear, cowering in a corner while my family is slaughtered like animals. I want to die a man."

Aragorn stared. This boy _was_ a man. The way he spoke, his talk of death. He seemed to have aged before the Ranger's eyes. Aragorn felt a sudden urge to abandon his plan, to tell the child of his Quest, perhaps even to ask for his company . . .

No, he couldn't. That would put Mardril in even more danger than a battle. For the same reason that he wanted to, he found that he couldn't do it. He also realized that the longer he spoke with the boy, the harder it would be to leave. He had to move now.

"No one has ever seemed more a man to me, Mard–" he cut his sentence short as he fell off his horse.

"Strider!" he heard Mardril exclaim as the boy leapt expertly off his own horse. Then everything went black.

* * *

Muahahahaha. Oh, I love it, I love it, I love it. Another cliffie! If it's not Faramir, it's Aragorn! Muahahahahaha. Enjoy waiting for the next update. 


	21. Til the Day that I Die

Disclaimer: This story is not mine. Neither is the chapter title, really. That came from Jekyll and Hyde. Oh, well, half the chapter titles I use aren't mine.

Warning: Because I didn't last time, I'm warning you again. Faramir is in Cirith Ungol. Ergo, there is character torture in these chapters. Ergo, my rating is well deserved. If you don't like character torture, skip anything where you see Faramir mentioned.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One  
**'**Til the Day that I Die**

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes. He'd done it. His plan had worked. He had a bit of a headache, but Mardril was gone. He'd left to find help, no doubt, and would be back soon, but Aragorn would be long gone by then.

Slowly, the Ranger got to his feet. He'd hated to do that to the boy, but there had been no other way. He'd gotten Mardril talking so that he'd have the boy's attention when he fell. Otherwise, the boy may have simply thought he'd fallen from his horse, and might've simply stayed and waited for him to regain consciousness instead of running for help.

Actually, he hadn't run, Aragorn corrected himself. The boy's horse was gone, but his own was still standing there, as if waiting for him. He still had some supplies, but they had been packed to last the three-day horse-ride from Gondor to Rohan, not a long trek both to and through Mordor. He would have to gather more along the way.

That wasn't a problem, though. The problem he knew he had to face was how to get into Mordor. The obvious answer was through the Black Gate, but was it even possible to sneak in there undetected?

He had heard of another passage, Cirith Ungol, which was much closer. It could save him time. The way was rumored to be dangerous, but Moria had been, as well, and he had come out alive. But Gandalf . . .

No, this wasn't the time to think about that. He had to make a decision, and it had to be the right one. Time was everything now. He had to leave before Mardril got back, and he had to have some idea of where he was going.

Cirith Ungol was so much closer, and would guarantee him the ability to sneak in. What was there that could be more dangerous than trying to sneak past Sauron's guards at the Black Gate?

Aragorn mounted his horse and raced off to the East, towards Cirith Ungol. He had to go far enough to the South, he knew, for no one from Gondor to see him. He couldn't take that chance. He turned south a little. It would make the journey slightly longer, but it was better than having to explain to Denethor what he was doing riding like the wind towards Mordor.

* * *

Pippin yawned sleepily as they made their way to the border of Fangorn Forest. He couldn't help it. He felt like he could sleep for days. Merry looked the same way, though he wasn't yawning quite as loudly. 

Boromir simply looked worried. Pippin watched him sadly. He couldn't imagine how it must feel. He tried to think of what it would be like if Merry had been captured, but he couldn't even picture that. The thought was too terrible.

And yet Boromir had to go on and do what was best for Gondor, not just his brother. Right now, he would have liked nothing better than to march up to the Black Gate and attack with the combined strength of all of Middle-Earth. But that couldn't possibly be done at the moment, so the human satisfied himself by kicking loose sticks and rocks out of the way.

The three Wizards led the way, followed by Legolas and Boromir. Gimli and the Hobbits were next, with Thiris bringing up the rear. Pippin realized for the first time that their numbers once again made nine. It was an odd coincidence, he thought as the end of the forest came into view.

Five horses waited for them there, four brown and one a brilliant white. Gandalf motioned to Pippin to come with him, and lifted him onto the white one. Boromir helped Merry up onto another and then climbed on himself. Legolas did the same for Gimli. Thiris leapt up on her own, followed by Radagast. Saruman mounted the remaining horse carefully, as if unsure whether the animal would bear him.

Sure enough, no sooner was he on than the horse reared up out of control. Saruman was thrown to the ground, uninjured, but definitely shaken. "I was afraid of this," he mumbled as Gandalf helped him to his feet.

Pippin carefully jumped off of his horse. "Gandalf, let me try," he offered. Gandalf lifted him up, hesitantly, as if unsure what the Hobbit had in mind. Pippin scooted forward on the horse, then motioned to Saruman. "Try it now."

Saruman looked at Gandalf, who nodded, and he climbed on. The horse whinnied a little, but stayed put. "Well," Saruman said, surprised. "Halflings have strange abilities, indeed."

Gandalf shrugged and mounted the white horse. "I'm the first to agree with you there, Saruman. The important thing is, though, that it worked." With that, they were off.

"Whatever made you do that?" Saruman asked once they had been riding for a while.

"I don't know," Pippin admitted. "I just thought it was worth a try. If he knew you were a friend, maybe he'd let you ride him."

"You consider me a friend, Peregrin Took?"

"You're with us now, aren't you?

"That seems to be the question on everyone's mind. How long will this last? If I get the opportunity to turn against you, will I take it? Do you think I cannot see the doubt in even your face, Peregrin?

"It is more than justified; this I know. In your place, I would be asking the same questions. And I would want answers, just as you do."

"Really?" Pippin asked, surprised that the Wizard would admit to having anything in common with him.

"Yes, and I would be just as frustrated as you are that I appear to have no answers to give."

"But it's a simple question, isn't it? We're working together, so we're on the same side, right?"

"Is it so simple? Do allies always work together? Are they always friendly towards each other?"

"Well . . ."

"What of the Dwarves and the Elves? Surely you know the story, of how the Battle of Five Armies was very nearly a battle between the Dwarves and the Elves, with a little help from the Men of Laketown."

Pippin nodded. "And at Council . . ."

"What happened?"

"They all ended up arguing. Nobody trusted each other. And not just the Dwarves and the Elves. The Men were upset, too. I'm not exactly sure why."

Saruman nodded. "This is the world we live in, Peregrin Took, a world of uncertain alliances. How can I hope that any of you will ever trust me? You can't even trust each other."

"You're wrong, Saruman," came Boromir's voice from behind them.

Saruman whirled around, apparently unaware that anyone else had been listening. "How so?"

"You spoke of the Battle of Five Armies, how it was almost a disaster because of the disputes between the different races. Yet in the end, it wasn't. They were willing to work together. When push comes to shove, two people, or two races, can set aside their own disagreements to defeat a common foe.

"I was there at the council. Once it was decided what was to be done, even I was willing to help. I, who had wanted to use the Ring to save Gondor. I went along with the decision, not because they had swayed me, but because it was what they thought was best.

"That is the only thing in question here, Saruman. It's not whether you think we're right, and agree with our decision, for that is out of all of our hands now. The question is whether you will help us in spite of it. Whether it was foolishness or some strange form of wisdom, it is done. The Ring is going to Mordor in the hands of Frodo Baggins, and we are going to Gondor. Nothing is going to change that now."

Saruman smiled. "So certain, so determined, in spite of all that has gone astray. And everything could again go amiss. This Halfling whom you trust so much could stumble into an Orc camp, and that would be the end. He could be found while trying to sneak into Mordor. Your beloved brother may not prove as strong as you believe. Or, knowing that both of you are away, the Enemy may strike Gondor hard while you are not there to defend it. By the time we arrive, there may be nothing left to defend."

"There is strength yet in Gondor. My father--"

"Your father is an aging old man who will now be worried sick about his sons."

"Wrong. He'll be worried about me. In any case, our men know their duty. They will fight to the death to defend the City."

Saruman smiled smugly. "Really? So will my Uruk-Hai, to defend Isengard. But what will come of it, Boromir of Gondor. The end is the same. Any way you look at it, disaster is on our doorstep. And there is nothing we can do to prevent it."

Boromir shook his head. "You're wrong. We can fight. And we _will _fight. And there is nothing Sauron can do to prevent that."

All was silent for a moment. Suddenly, Pippin spoke up. "Wait. Gandalf, you still have that black ball, right?"

Gandalf turned. "The Palantir, yes, but how did you--"

"Oh, Boromir told me Saruman gave it to you. What I'm trying to say is, we used it to talk to Boromir's father before. If he's really going to send help, we could just use it again and tell him not to, tell him we're coming."

Saruman shook his head. "It is too risky. The Enemy would know you are still alive, Boromir. You may not even get the chance to speak with your father. I am not sure whether Sauron allowed you the opportunity before or was simply unprepared for your resistance, but you cannot depend on it happening again."

"Then you, or Gandalf--" Boromir started.

"No," Gandalf interrupted. "None of us should use it. The risk is too great that the Enemy would learn something of our plans."

"He didn't learn anything from me," Boromir objected.

"You were lucky, Boromir, for whatever reason. As Saruman has said, we cannot assume that it will happen again. And if Sauron learns that we are coming to Gondor with the army of Rohan, he will attack swiftly."

Saruman nodded his agreement. "We may arrive in time to defend nothing but a pile of rocks."

Boromir clenched his teeth but said nothing. How could Gandalf listen to Saruman? Denethor, he knew, would go to any length to save him. Surely Gandalf knew this. He would send an army, and leave the City open to attack.

But the Wizards were right. They couldn't let the Enemy know that he was still alive, because then Sauron would know he would go to Gondor, and would strike the City hard. Still, there had to be something he could do.

He looked around. Gandalf and Saruman were adamant. Radagast would do what they decided. Legolas and Gimli would listen to Gandalf. Merry and Pippin, as well, would side with the Wizards.

But what of Thiris? She had shown no overwhelming loyalty to any one of them in particular. She had welcomed Saruman, but not recognized him or Gandalf as their leader. For the most part, she had been content to follow the others' lead, but still . . .

Now she was watching him, obviously curious. He knew that she understood. A Dwarf of the Lonely Mountain, one of Dain's close kin, surely she would understand loyalty. He needed to do what would help Gondor. She would understand that.

Finally, to his relief, she spoke. "Boromir could be right. Minas Tirith is our last real defense. If it falls, if Gondor is taken, the war is lost, short of a miracle. Even if the Ring is destroyed, the Orcs will have overrun much of Middle-Earth. We cannot allow Denethor to send his men to Isengard, to fight a battle that no longer needs to be fought. Gandalf, Saruman, we cannot allow Gondor to fall."

Radagast looked uncomfortable; something she had said had struck a chord. Legolas and Gimli, as well, looked uncertain. Merry and Pippin looked rather confused.

"Then you think we should use the Palantir?" Gandalf asked with a sigh.

Radagast looked up. "There's another option. One or two of us could ride to Gondor, intercept any army that may be on its way. It would be longer, but safer than using the Palantir.

"I will go," Boromir immediately volunteered.

Gandalf shook his head. "No, Boromir. We need you. Theoden must be convinced of Gondor's need. None of us can do that better than you."

"But--"

"You will be of little help in Gondor by yourself, Boromir. Rohan must be convinced. King Theoden must be convinced. We need you here, now."

"I will go," Radagast nodded, following an unspoken suggestion, a glance exchanged between the two Wizards. "It would even help our plan. Sauron will see it as a last-ditch defense. Faramir is captured and Sauron may well believe Boromir to be dead. Gandalf, he does not know where you are, and Saruman is defeated as far as he is concerned. One Wizard riding to Gondor to aid a falling city, that is all he will see. He may well bide his time, not strike immediately, if he believes we will be easily overrun. He will wish to play on our fears, drive us to despair before attacking, and in doing so make victory that much more certain."

Gandalf looked surprised at the long-winded explanation, but as everyone nodded their agreement, he smiled. "Very well, but take Thiris with you. Denethor will trust two messengers more readily than one. Or, better yet, take Pippin. He is the one who used the Palantir; Denethor will recognize him as someone who was with Boromir."

"But--" Pippin started, but everyone was stopping their horses.

Thiris leapt down off of Radagast's. "Come, Pippin; there is no time to lose."

Saruman dismounted and helped Pippin down. Radagast helped the Hobbit up onto his horse while Thiris mounted Saruman's. The Wizard remounted after her.

Merry and Pippin exchanged glances. This was all so fast. How had they even come to this decision?

"It's all right, Pippin," Radagast assured him, patting his small companion gently on the shoulder. "This is not good-bye. They will be coming. We are simply going to arrive first."

With that, he turned his horse, and they set off, for Minas Tirith.

* * *

Faramir could hear footsteps approaching outside his door. He cringed, knowing what was again to come. The door swung open with a creak, revealing not two, but three Orcs. The two from the last time were there, and so was a rather large Orc with a club. 

They all moved slowly towards Faramir. He watched them all, helpless to do anything, but determined not to give in. The one with the knives chose an especially large on, and in one quick stroke, cut both the ropes holding him. Even before he hit the floor, the whip struck him across the back and the third Orc kicked him hard in the chest.

Then he was down, and a swift pain in his shoulder let him know that the newcomer was as skilled with a club as the other two were with their weapons of choice. The whip lashed out again, curling about his legs. A knife slashed across his shoulder. One of them kicked him in the stomach.

Faramir could no longer separate one pain from another. It was all one terrible nightmare of agony, knife and whip and club working as one. He could do nothing but lie there, helpless, as they tore at his flesh. Occasionally, one would hold him up while the other two did their work, striking at his head and chest. His throat was dry from thirst, and he could barely find the strength even to scream.

Eventually, he couldn't even do that. The pain was too great, too constant, even for sounds. He closed his eyes, wishing unconsciousness would take him. But it never came. The pain kept him awake, the constant movement, the arousal of new wounds, the reopening of old ones.

Then there was the laughter. They had not laughed before. They had been serious, angry even. Now they were having fun, amused by the pain they were inflicting. Their laugher rang in his ears, echoing in his mind. It was a cruel sound, unfeeling. They truly didn't care what they did to him.

"Enough!" the one with the knives shouted at last. "He must be kept alive. The Master thinks he may be of value. String him back up, boys!"

So this one was in charge, Faramir thought as ropes were again bound about his wrists. Not that it mattered. They all seemed equally intent on keeping him alive, if not for his value, then so they would be able to continue tormenting him later. He was probably the first victim they had received in a long while. They wanted their fun to last.

Soon he was hanging again, his whole body aching and groaning in pain. Cuts from knives, lines from the whip, and bruises from the club covered his whole body. His left eye had received a slash from their claws that ran from his forehead to his chin; it was completely useless and the pain was terrible. His jaw felt like it might be broken, and he couldn't move several of his fingers and toes, which they had been purposefully careless of stepping on.

Faramir looked up, blood dripping from his wounds, clouding his vision out of even his right eye. They were leaving. But they would return. This would continue until at long last they killed him. Hungry, thirsty, and tired, he knew he would not last long. Time was the enemy now, and it was growing in power. Short of a miracle, he realized, he would die in Minas Morgul.

* * *

A/N: Well, you can't say I didn't warn you.Last chapter, yes; this one, I warned you. Believe it or not, I actually like writing this stuff. Muahahahahaha. Poor Faramir. Then I reread it and all of a sudden I don't like myself. :) Oh, well. It passes. Everyone seems to enjoy torturing their favorite characters, if they torture anyone at all. It's not really effective unless you get some pain yourself out of writing it. :) 


	22. The World of Men

Disclaimer: It's not mine.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
****The World of Men**

Sam and Mablung rode on in silence. At last, the city of Osgiliath came into sight. Sam looked at Gollum, all curled up in the bottom of the boat. "I'll stay with him," he volunteered. "You go ahead and find your son." Mablung smiled and made his way into the city unhindered.

It seemed forever before he returned, with two more Gondorians. Sam looked them over closely. Neither of them seemed young enough to be the man's son.

Mablung motioned for Sam to get out of the boat. "My son is not here," he said quietly. "He left for Minas Tirith yesterday with a stranger who called himself Strider."

Sam's heart raced. "Strider? Really? He's here? What about Mister Frodo?"

Mablung cast his eyes down. "Then it is as I feared; these were your friends."

"Yes, they are! Where are they? Are they still here?"

"Sam, the . . . the Halfling with Strider . . . he was killed in an attack on the city. I'm so sorry, Sam. I--"

"No! It can't be! He can't be . . . no! I promised Gandalf I wouldn't lose him!"

Three pairs of eyes were now fixed on Sam. "Mithrandir?" Mablung asked. "You know him?"

Sam shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. "No. I knew him. He was killed in Moria. He saved all of us, but . . ."

Suddenly, Gollum sprang to life, leaping out of the boat and in the opposite direction. The men drew their bows.

"No!" Sam shouted, grabbing Mablung's arm. "No, please! No more death! He won't hurt anything, now that Mister Frodo's gone. It's him he was after. Please, let him go!"

Mablung looked down at Sam with pity in his eyes. "Let him go," he agreed, lowering his bow. The others followed suit.

Mablung knelt down to look the Hobbit in the face. "You are right. There has been enough death. Apparently, my young friend, there would have been more, if not for this Strider. It was he and my son who together drove out the Nazgûl."

"Nazgûl? Black Riders? They were the ones that killed him?"

"Yes. I see you know of them. Now I am even more curious what brought you here, Sam, a friend of Mithrandir's and of so great a warrior."

But Sam was no longer listening. Black Riders. What, then, had become of the Ring? Perhaps they had not been driven out, but had simply left because they had taken It, and had no further business in this place for the time. Then all was lost. But even if they hadn't, what would Aragorn do? Would he take it for himself? Had one of the Gondorian soldiers found it, before he'd had a chance?

Sam took a deep breath. "So what do we do now?"

"We ride for Minas Tirith. Your friend, Strider, may still be there, and my son. Come."

Soon, they were off, riding together on a beautiful golden-brown steed with a long black mane. Sam, in front of Mablung, had plenty of tome to admire the horse's coat, for every time he looked up at the grey clouds and the distant rays of light where the sun could no longer be seen beyond the darkness, he felt despair creep into his heart. Gandalf was gone. Frodo was gone. Who knew how much of the rest of the Fellowship was even alive? The Ring had perhaps been taken. How much more could go wrong?

Suddenly, Mablung stopped the horse. "Look!" he called, pointing into the distance. Another rider, coming from the west, was headed towards the City. Mablung turned his horse and sped in that direction.

Soon, they were close enough for Sam to see better. The rider was shorter than Mablung, really no more than a child. What was he doing out here alone?

"Father!" the rider shouted suddenly.

"Mardril!" Mablung cried. "What has happened?" Both slowed their horses as Mardril came alongside them.

Mardril's eyes flew to Sam. "This is Strider's other companion?" he asked, ignoring his father's question.

"Yes," Sam answered. "Where is he?"

"We were riding for Rohan, on an errand from the Steward, when he collapsed suddenly. I came to find help."

Sam understood immediately. Aragorn wouldn't just collapse for no reason at all. They had been going to Rohan. He'd wanted to go in the opposite direction -- to Mordor. So he'd gotten rid of his companion by pretending to need help.

Sam knew he had to think quickly. He shook his head. "There is no need for that; he is unhurt, I believe. He simply wished for you to think he was in need of help, to separate the two of you. He has no intent of continuing on to Rohan. He is a Ranger of the North, and it is there that his allegiance lies. It is there that he was to return, as soon as his task here was completed."

Mardril nodded. "He said he had come from the North, to bring news of doings there. But when Lord Denethor asked him to go to Rohan, he agreed."

"Why were you going there?"

"Perhaps I am not the one to tell you that. Come. The city is not far. You should speak with Lord Denethor. He will answer your questions."

They sped off, but Sam couldn't help hearing Mablung mutter, "Don't count on it."

Before he knew it, Sam was following Mablung and Mardril through the streets of Minas Tirith. At last, they entered a large room, and both men bowed before the Steward of Gondor.

Sam bowed deeply, trying to mask his tears, but he could feel the eyes of the Steward watching him intently. "So this is the other Halfling. What is your name, little one?"

"Samwise Gamgee, my lord."

"I see you have already been told of your companion. Strider bade me give you these." In his hands, he held out Sting, and Frodo's mithril shirt.

Sam stared, but took them. Somehow, this made the whole story real. Frodo was not there. He would never be there again. Mablung knelt down and put his arms around the Halfling, and Sam buried his face in the man's shoulder.

Mardril told Denethor about what had happened to Aragorn, and what Sam had said, but the Hobbit hardly listened. He had never felt so helpless. Frodo was gone. Aragorn was going to Mordor. He was here, alone, in Minas Tirith, unable to change anything.

At last, silence filled the room, and Sam let go of Mablung. He turned to the Steward. "My lord, why was Strider on his way to Rohan? Surely you have enough battles to fight here without having to ride to war in Rohan."

Denethor smiled. "True enough, little one. They were on an errand, to ride to Isengard and free my sons and their companions."

Sam's face lit up, and he realized too late that it probably showed. Boromir. Boromir was alive. And 'their companions' probably meant Merry and Pippin. But Denethor had said 'sons'; there was more than one there. What was his other son doing at Isengard?

It didn't matter, he decided. Some of their company was still alive. But they, too, were at Isengard. Why were they there? He had a million questions, but didn't want to let on that he knew what was going on. He didn't know how much Aragorn had told Denethor. He had to be careful . . .

"Their companions," Denethor continued, "are Hobbits like yourself. Do you know them?"

Sam decided to try to be vague. "There are many Hobbits in this world, my lord."

Denethor nodded. "He said that his name was Peregrin Took, and his friend was Merry."

Sam nodded. "I know of them. They are quite well-known among my people." But his mind was racing. 'Said'? How? How had Denethor spoken to Pippin?

"I see," the Steward said, but he sounded doubtful.

Sam tried changing the subject. "So . . . Strider and Mardril were going to attack Isengard by themselves?"

"No. They were to ask for King Theoden's aid. And now I should send another messenger as soon as may be. Mablung, will you and your son go?"

Mablung's eyes lit up. "Together?"

"Of course."

"Yes, of course we will go," Mablung answered, and Mardril nodded readily.

Sam looked up. "Please, my lord, may I go with them?"

Denethor shook his head. "Strider wished that I keep you here; it would be safer for you."

"I don't want to be safe! I want to help!" Sam yelled. Then, regaining his control, "Please. I don't know what I'd do here in the City, all alone. These two are the only ones I know, and now you're sending them away. Please, let me go with them."

Denethor smiled kindly. "Very well. The choice is yours. If Strider had wanted to protect you from going, he should not have turned from his errand. It is because of him that you have the opportunity to follow. Do you wish to go?"

"Yes," Sam answered immediately.

Denethor nodded. "So be it. Go in peace."

* * *

It was late when Gandalf, Saruman, Boromir, Thiris, Legolas, Gimli, and Merry approached Edoras. "I shall go first, and with me Legolas and Gimli," Gandalf instructed. He dismounted, and the Dwarf and the Elf followed his lead.

Boromir leapt down, helping Merry after him. "I am coming with you. This is my affair more than anyone else's here. It is my brother who has been captured, my city that is in danger."

Gandalf nodded. "Very well. Thiris, remain here, with Saruman. I am not sure that Théoden would be pleased to see him at this moment."

"Indeed," Saruman nodded as he and Thiris dismounted. "We shall wait here."

Thiris looked up as the others disappeared into the shadows. "You're most uncomfortable."

"I wonder why," Saruman said sarcastically, without looking down.

"So Théoden is no longer under your power."

"What do you think?"

"I think that was brave of you. You could have kept him in your power and been in absolutely no danger."

"I could have, it is true, but that would only be delaying the inevitable, my young Dwarf. Gandalf would not permit me to do so indefinitely; surely you know this. No, it is better to get the unfriendly welcome over with now."

"And if they attack us?"

"Gandalf and I spoke of the possibility. While I am more than capable of defending myself against these people, that would not speak well for my intention of assistance and peace." The Wizard hesitated. "Why do you ask?"

"Because there are several Rohirrim coming towards us from behind, rather quickly, I might add. They're on horses; I can hear them," Thiris responded, without turning around to look.

Saruman nodded. "Let them come."

A spear came flying through the air towards them. Saruman whirled around and sidestepped it, knocking it out of the air with his staff. "Peace, Riders of Rohan!" he called. "Peace!"

One of the riders came forward, and it surprised Saruman to see that it was not Èomer. "What is your purpose here, Saruman? Come to put some evil spell on us all, no doubt."

"Hardly," the Wizard answered coolly. "If I had wished to do so, I could have already, before you had the chance to throw your spear. My companion informed me of your presence."

"Another one of your slaves, no doubt, and a Dwarf, nonetheless. What do you want here? Speak!"

"I came with Gandalf, who has just gone in to speak with your king."

"Gandalf is dead."

"Quite the contrary; he is very much alive. Go and see for yourselves, if you do not believe me."

"All in good time," the Rider spat. "It makes no difference who you came with. You are an enemy of Rohan, and shall be brought before our king."

"Wonderful."

"Sir," said another rider, coming up behind him. "Should we not simply kill him here, before he has the chance to plan an escape?"

"Perhaps you are right."

Saruman took a deep breath. He and Gandalf had, of course, thought of this possibility, as well. Indeed, he had been surprised not to hear it mentioned earlier, when they had first found him. But, then, he was not dealing with Èomer. Perhaps that was the reason.

"My friends," Saruman began his rehearsed speech. "I come with nothing but the best of intentions towards Rohan. Isengard has been attacked and the Uruk-Hai will be destroyed. Gandalf has persuaded me to join with him in his attempts to protect and save Middle-Earth.

"Whether you believe me or not is unimportant at this time. I am here, and you are still alive. If I had wished to slay you, or to escape, I would have done so already. Instead, I am still here, at your mercy. Is that not enough proof?

"Even if it is not, I am prepared to give you more. Behold." He took his staff and held it out to the closest man, their leader. "I surrender to you my staff as a token of my good will, to be returned when your king sees fit to do so." The Rider took it, hesitantly, as if it might explode into fire at any moment.

"Now," Saruman continued, "I am completely at your mercy. I carry no other weapon. If you still wish to kill me, I am powerless to stop you. What now is your choice?"

Thiris looked up. It had been impressive, the very picture of sincerity. Only she could tell that the Wizard loathed every second of it, and had only proceeded thus at Gandalf's request, and with the thought that it might save his own life without giving them more cause to think him an enemy.

The Rohirrim suddenly looked down at her. "And what of your slave?" the leader asked. "Does she surrender, as well?"

Thiris took her axe and sword from her belt and handed them to another Rider. "Yes, though I am not his slave. I am his friend, and a friend of Gandalf, as well. Now, if you will, bring us before your king."

"Very well," their leader replied, drawing his sword. "But if either of you makes one move to escape, or to fight, you can be sure that I will kill you both."

Thiris nodded. "You shall have no such need; our intention is peaceful. Lead the way."

The other Riders dismounted, nearly two dozen in all, and surrounded the two of them. Then they set out for the Golden Hall, swords pointed in at them the whole way.

They were led in, and saw Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, and Merry seated on the right. They all looked a little uneasy, except for Gandalf, who simply nodded to the pair as they passed. The Rohirrim led them to the front, before a throne.

Saruman nearly jumped in surprise when the Riders parted in front of him, and he could see. But Thiris simply raised an eyebrow and knelt down. Then she said five words that chilled Saruman to the bone.

"Hail, Èomer, King of Rohan."

* * *

Muahahahahahaha. Eomer is King of Rohan. What happened to Theoden? Muahahahaha.


	23. Night is Falling

A/N: In response to Lumberjane, yes, I did. I seem to have a peculiar tendency to kill off characters. :) Can't imagine where that came from. (Starts counting on fingers how many characters Tolkien killed . . .)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
****Night is Falling**

Èomer rose slowly. "I wish very much that you would have had no need to call me that. My uncle, King Théoden, was murdered last night in his sleep by a slave in the service of this Wizard who accompanies you. The snake has fled, and we know not where he has gone. Gandalf has told me that if he finds his way to Isengard, he will meet an unpleasant surprise. Is this not so, Saruman?"

"It is," Saruman nodded. "The Nazgûl now have possession of Isengard. The Uruk-Hai will be destroyed and Faramir of Gondor has been taken captive by Sauron. If Grima somehow reaches Isengard, he will no doubt be killed or taken prisoner -- most likely killed, because he knows nothing of value."

Èomer took a few steps towards Saruman. "You are responsible for my uncle's death, and for Faramir's capture, which is no better than death. I should kill you right here, but Gandalf has told me that you may be of help." He turned to the others. "He surrendered to you willingly?"

"Yes, my lord," their leader answered. "He also surrendered this." He held out Saruman's staff, which Èomer took cautiously, then leaned against a pillar.

At last, Èomer nodded. "Leave us," he ordered his men. "I will speak to them alone." The men left, not without a glance back at Saruman, wondering if, even without his staff, he should be left alone with their new king.

Èomer turned to Thiris, who was still kneeling. "Rise, Thiris, daughter of Thrain. Yes, Gandalf has told me who you are. Come, all of you. We have much to discuss. Some matters will have to wait."

All of them sat down at the table. Èomer, Boromir, Gandalf, and Merry sat on one side, with Saruman, Thiris, Gimli, and Legolas on the other. Èomer turned to Boromir at his right. "You have said that Gondor needs aid. How quickly?"

"As quickly as possible. Osgiliath is our last defense against the shadow of Mordor. If it falls, the Enemy will not hesitate to strike Minas Tirith."

Èomer nodded. "Once our forces are gathered, we can be there in three days. Saruman. What will the Nazgûl do at Isengard? Do they pose any threat to the people of Rohan?"

Saruman shook his head. "Hardly. They will return to Mordor as soon as the Uruk-Hai are all destroyed. Their business was with me, not with Rohan. Sauron does not see your country as an immediate threat. However, if you ride to the aid of Gondor, and it falls nonetheless, Rohan will be left defenseless. Yet if you leave Gondor to defend itself and it falls, Rohan does not have the might to alone withstand the forces of the Dark Lord. And if Gondor falls, you will be alone."

"So the choice would seem to be either to fight together and probably fall, or to fight separately and definitely fell." He met Boromir's gaze. "I will ride to Gondor's aid, I and any that will come. We will leave as soon as may be, but we need time to gather our army."

"Time is one thing that seems short these days," Boromir nodded.

"I will gather such men as may be found in two days' time; then we ride for Minas Tirith."

"Thank you," Boromir managed, for lack of anything better to say. Never had he expected such an easy agreement. Èomer looked as if he would have liked to depart at that very moment.

Èomer seemed to read his expression. "You are not the only one here with a grievance against the Dark Lord, Boromir. Saruman was only a puppet in Sauron's plan. The blame for my uncle Theoden's death is ultimately his. My uncle shall be avenged, and your brother, as well."

Boromir looked up. "There is hope yet for Faramir. We believe that Sauron will wish to keep him alive."

Èomer looked suddenly confused. "For what purpose?"

Boromir looked at Gandalf, who turned to Èomer. "There is much you do not know, and perhaps we shall find the time to explain. But first, send word through the land. Summon the Riders of Rohan. War is upon us."

* * *

Sam could feel the wind in his hair as he rode towards Rohan with Mablung and Mardril. Mardril was behind him on their horse, a beautiful light brown steed with a flowing black mane. Mablung rode beside them on a dark brown horse. All three were silent. 

It was late, but Mablung had insisted that they ride through the night. They had started in the afternoon, and all three were anxious to arrive as soon as possible. The soldiers wanted to save their captains. Sam simply wanted, more than anything else in Middle-Earth, to see his friends, to see a familiar face once more, to know they were safe, to know that some small bit of hope was still alive.

Sam's eyelids began to droop. "Go to sleep," Mardril said softly. "I will not let you fall."

Sam closed his eyes. The beat of the horses' hooves suddenly sounded soothing, a steady drumming on the ground. Listening to their steady rhythm, with the stars shining brightly overhead, Sam at last drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Pippin yawned. A whole day of riding, and everything looked exactly the same. Rocks and grass were all beginning to look alike. Now it was growing dark, but all the shadows drifting across the land didn't appear frightening, simply huge and empty. 

"How long 'til we stop for the night?" Pippin asked sleepily.

Radagast laughed. "Go to sleep, Pippin; we will not be stopping. We must reach Minas Tirith as soon as may be, and that means traveling through the night, my little friend."

Pippin sighed. "How far is it?"

"It is a three days' ride from Rohan to Minas Tirith, and we have been traveling for a day." Pippin's head drooped, and Radagast smiled. "I don't like it any better than you do, little one. I am not much of a traveller myself."

Pippin looked up. "Really?"

"Really," Radagast smiled, amused by the look of surprise on the Hobbit's face.

"I guess things like this help us be things we're not," Pippin yawned.

Radagast smiled. "I suppose so."

Pippin smiled as he slowly nodded off to sleep. If days like this could change a Wizard, he wondered, what would they do to him? To Merry? To any of them?

* * *

Aragorn rode on in the darkness towards the Anduin River. He knew he must eventually cross it, and in this cold weather, he was no looking forward to it. Yet now it came into view. 

It was too wide for him or even his horse to jump, so he unstrapped what little supplies he had from his horse's saddle and gave its hind end a thump. The horse took off into the darkness, leaving the Ranger again alone.

Aragorn stared across the River for a moment, then threw his supplies across. They landed with a reassuring thump on the other side. Aragorn watched the water for a while. The current was steady, but not particularly strong. He could make it. He checked his pocket to make sure the Ring was still there, safe and sound. Then he took a god running start and leapt as far as he could into the River.

He made it about a third of the way, he guessed, by jumping. The water was freezing cold, and the sudden shock of it spread through his body like the piercing of a thousand knives. Yet he managed to regain his senses and quickly swam to the other side, ending up maybe ten meters down river from where he had thrown his supplies.

He checked his pockets. All was well. He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

The shock of the sudden cold had given him a burst of energy. He continued on at a good pace for quite some time. He would have to travel through the night, he decided, and sleep around midday, to avoid being seen by scouts, of both the Enemy and of Gondor.

* * *

Not so far away, in a tower in Minas Morgul, Faramir looked out into the same darkness, the endless darkness of Mordor. In this land, there was no way to separate day from night. He didn't know how long he had been a captive in the tower of Minas Morgul; nor did he want to guess. 

He could see nothing out of his left eye, which was bloody and swollen. His right eye was blurred by a headache which seemed to be pounding his whole body. Still, he could see that outside the tower, out the window, the sky was pitch black.

The window. How big was it, he wondered. If he could somehow get down, could he fit through it? But how could he get down? He couldn't untie the ropes, and he had nothing to cut them with, and not a hand free to cut them even if he'd had a knife. He couldn't reach them. He couldn't get free. He couldn't do anything.

And even if he could somehow get out, what then? The fall would almost certainly kill him; he was probably very high up. Even if he somehow survived, he would still be in Mordor, and they would find him quickly again. So what was the use in hoping?

Yet . . . and yet . . . the chance was still there, wasn't it? There was a chance, no matter how small. He had to keep up hope, because hope was the only thing he had left.

He could hear footsteps on the stairs now, cold and cruel. He shivered, and stared out the window. And it seemed for a moment -- such a brief moment -- that a light broke through the clouds, that a single star shone in the darkness.

Then the door opened, and the light was gone. Only the darkness remained, and the sound of a dozen Orcs entering the room.

* * *

Èomer returned momentarily. "The orders have been given. We shall wait here for two days. Then we depart. I have had quarters prepared for you; no doubt you need rest. In the morning, we shall find you swords, armor, horses, and whatever else you may need." He sat down. "Forgive my boldness, Gandalf, but there are two of your company whom I believe should remain here in safety." 

Thiris looked up. "You are referring to Merry and myself, no doubt."

"I meant no disrespect."

"Of course you didn't. You simply had no idea what you were saying. It would be useless, King Èomer, to try to keep me from a battle which needs to be fought. I have the skill to match any man in battle, and the courage to use that skill. Do not doubt this simply because I am a Dwarf woman. Courage comes from many places, my king, often unlooked-for.

"Therefore I must also speak for this Hobbit. He has traveled far and seen many things that the bravest of your men have not. His best friend has ridden away to Minas Tirith and he will not be kept here by any means of yours, my king. It would be useless, even foolish, to try."

"That was well said, Thiris," came a voice from the door. A woman stood there, tall and pale, watching the group. "It is easy to forget," she added, approaching, "that these times may forge heroes from the most unlikely people, from halflings to murderers." She cast a cold look at Saruman. "If anyone is not to leave Edoras, it should be him."

"Èowyn, I would guess," Saruman sighed without turning around. "Grima has told me of you."

"Do not speak to me of that snake! He is my uncle's murderer!"

"So I was right. Èowyn, daughter of Eomund, King Theoden's niece. Surely you must know that I never meant for Grima to kill your uncle."

"Because he was of no use to you dead! What you were doing to him, Saruman, was worse than death! And the moment your power over him vanished, as soon as he was no longer under your control, no longer part of the plan, your little minion killed him!"

"That," Saruman nodded, "is a more or less accurate description of what happened, if a little cold. Now that we have all the facts straight, what do you plan to do about it?"

"There is nothing I can do," Èowyn admitted. "Èomer has said that you may be of help."

"Interesting. That is exactly what the dear King said that Gandalf told him."

"That is not a surprise at all, Saruman."

"What is any more?" Merry asked.

Everyone stared at the Hobbit. "Well, it's true. Look at us. Two Dwarves. An Elf. A Hobbit. Two wizards, one of whom is responsible for the death of your uncle, both you and King Èomer. And a man from Gondor whose brother is now a captive of Sauron. After all that, what's surprising? That a couple of you want to kill each other? The some of us just want to get to Gondor as soon as possible? That we're all just as determined to go for one reason or another? What's surprising any more?"

Saruman actually smiled. "Extraordinary creatures, these Hobbits. I think I understand what you see in them, Gandalf. And now," he added, rising, "we should all get some sleep."

Èomer held up his hand. "Wait, Saruman." He took the Wizard's staff from where it had been propped up against one of the pillars. "You told my men it was to be returned when their King saw fit. Well, I do so."

Saruman bowed graciously and took the staff. One by one, he and the others left, all except Thiris, Merry, and Èowyn.

"Thank you, Thiris," Merry said at last. "I thought for a moment they were going to make me stay."

Thiris shook her head. "They would not have been able to. You have a fire in you, Merry, that will not be quenched until this matter is long laid to rest. But now, my young friend, get some sleep. You will need it soon."

Merry got up and followed the others. Èowyn smiled. "Hobbits? Is that what Saruman called them?"

Thiris nodded. "Yes, a remarkable race."

"Have you met many?"

The Dwarf shook her head. "This one, and his friend, Pippin Took. I briefly encountered another one by the name of Bilbo Baggins, after the Battle of Five Armies."

Èowyn's eyes lit up. "You were there?"

"Yes," Thiris nodded. "I was one of many, and yet the only one of my kind. Did your brother tell you who I am?"

"Yes, you are Thorin's sister, and you were raised by the Elves in Rivendell."

Thiris sighed. "Gandalf must have told him. Unless the safety of Middle-Earth depends on it, no one can keep a secret any more."

"Why keep it a secret?"

"I have no desire to be known as the daughter of a king, the sister of a king, or a queen, or anything resembling that title, Èowyn. It's not who I am. As far as my kindred are concerned, I want to be just another soldier, one of many."

"Strange."

"I know."

Èowyn smiled. "Come, Thiris. You may share my room tonight. I shall be glad for the company."

Thiris rose and followed her. "Why do I have the feeling I'm about to be kept awake all night with questions?"

Èowyn laughed. "Perhaps living with the Elves has given you some of their foresight."

They came to Èowyn's chambers and Thiris lay down on the floor. "I can have them find another bed," Èowyn offered, surprised.

Thiris shook her head slowly as she stared up at the ceiling. "No, don't. Some part of me knows, you see, that if I ever do lie down in a real bed again, if ever I wake up, after the sun, without the feeling that there could be danger at any second, if I ever taste that life again, Èowyn, I will never let go."

* * *

First two. Then three. Now anywhere from ten to twelve Orcs were staring at Faramir with greedy eyes. He didn't have time to count them before six or seven of them took out their whips. The leader, the one with the knives, raised his hand, and it began. 

The pain was sudden, and this time, it was constant. If one whip wasn't striking his chest or his back, there was another wrapped around his legs or curled about his arm.

Suddenly, the rope around his right wrist gave way, and fire shot up from his broken left arm. With the added weight, the other rope soon broke, and Faramir crashed to the floor. Even before he hit the ground, all chaos broke loose. Orcs reached for their knives and new pain welled up as the blades dug into his skin.

The Orcs shoved him over onto his back, their claws tearing at him as they pushed him back and forth. Despite his blurred vision, he could see their claws, their teeth, and their terrible eyes. Faramir squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like a little child trying to stop a nightmare, and it was just as useless.

At last, the call came. "String 'im back up, boys!"

"Wait!" came a second voice. "You leave 'im up there like that long enough in 'is condition, you'll kill 'im."

After a moment of mumbling among themselves, they agreed and tied Faramir up where he was. They took his hands roughly and tied them behind his head. Then they tied his legs together all the way up to his knees. One of them whispered something to another, who nodded. He raised his club and brought it down hard. The last thing Faramir remembered was a terrible pain in his head, and the sound of laughter.


	24. Eye of the Storm

Disclaimer: Yeah, same old, same old. I don't own it.

A/N: Warning, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm going to keep torturing Faramir for a while. Some of this is actually getting hard to write, partially because I have to keep thinking up new ways to torment the poor guy and partially because every time I go to write it, I get this stinging pain in my right shoulder . . .hmmm, oh, well. It'll go away. Can't blame this one on the Tyrannosaur, can I:)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
****Eye of the Storm**

Pippin blinked into the morning sun. It was now the third day since they had set out from Fangorn Forest. Radagast was obviously tired but insisted on continuing. Pippin yawned. He hadn't been able to sleep very well on the horse since one time the first night when he had fallen off. Radagast had been dozing and hadn't caught the Hobbit in time. Despite the wizard's constant apologies, Pippin hadn't felt quite safe ever since.

"We should be there by nightfall," Radagast assured him. "Then you'll be able to sleep in a real bed, and eat a good, Hobbit-sized meal."

"Mmmmm," Pippin mumbled dreamily. "What's for breakfast?"

Radagast laughed and pulled an apple out of his bag. Pippin's eyes clouded. Apples reminded him of Aragorn.

Radagast took the horse's reins in one hand and wrapped the other arm around his small companion. "It'll be all right, Pippin. You'll see."

Pippin looked up. "Really? You really believe that?"

"Of course I -- Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to the horizon. Two horses were galloping towards them as quickly as they could. Pippin rubbed his eyes. He thought he saw -- but no, it couldn't be.

Pippin waved his arms wildly. The horses came steadily closer, and eventually stopped next to him and Radagast. "Sam!" Pippin exclaimed.

"Pippin!" came the other Hobbit's startled cry. "What happened? How did you get here? Denethor told me you were at Isengard!"

"I was. The Black Riders attacked, and we escaped. We're all right! Boromir and Merry are on their way to Rohan with Legolas and Gimli and Thiris and -- Sam, Gandalf's alive! And Saruman is helping us now! But Faramir -- he's Boromir's brother -- the Nazgûl took him! And Denethor -- we're going to Minas Tirith to tell him he doesn't need to save us. He doesn't need to send anyone to Isengard. And Rohan's army will be coming, with the others!"

Sam stared. "They're all alive?"

Pippin nodded. "Yes." Suddenly, he noticed Sam's eyes were full of tears. "What is it, Sam?"

Sam looked down. "It's . . . it's Mister Frodo."

He didn't need to say any more. The shocked look on Pippin's face let him know the message had gone through. Radagast looked hard at the new Hobbit. "What about . . . Strider, was it?"

Sam shook his head. "He's disappeared. Who knows where he went?" Then, making sure neither of his companions could see, he winked. Pippin relaxed a little. The Ring was safe. Aragorn was going to Mordor.

But Frodo. Dead? How could that have happened? He looked up at Sam to ask the question, but all that came out was, "How?"

"Nazgûl," the younger of his companions explained. "Black Riders. They attacked Osgiliath just after the two of them arrived."

"Two?" Radagast asked.

Sam nodded. "We were separated on the River. I arrived a little while later."

"How, if they had the boat?" Pippin asked.

"Gollum found us," Sam sighed. "The two of us followed them down the River on logs."

Pippin stifled a laugh. "_You_, Sam? You can't swim."

"Well, it was faster than trying to follow them on foot," said the older man. He turned to Sam. "So you do know them. You were with Boromir."

"Yes," Sam admitted. "I was. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, or Denethor, but I had my reasons."

Radagast nodded. "Indeed. And those reasons, Sam, need not be revealed to anyone at the moment. Come. Since there is no more need for your errand, we shall all go together to Minas Tirith."

* * *

Faramir awoke to a stinging pain in his forehead. Two Orcs were sitting nearby, laughing. Faramir could see, out of his right eye, blood dripping to the floor from his forehead. One of the Orcs held a knife, which was also dripping with blood. 

"Show him," the other Orc laughed. "Find something he can see himself in." The first Orc ran to get a shield, and held it, laughing, so Faramir could see his reflection. There, carved deep into his forehead, was the symbol of the Red Eye, truly red with his blood.

Something inside the Steward's son decided that was the last straw. With a sudden burst of strength, he swung his legs forward. The shield flew out of the Orc's hands and into his face. The other one threw himself on top of Faramir, pinning his legs, and swung its claws across his face. Faramir let out a cry of pain. The Orc he had hit, blood dripping from its face, pressed a blade to his neck.

"You . . . won't kill me," Faramir coughed. "You have orders."

The Orc growled, but removed the blade. "We can't kill you, but we can make you wish you were dead."

With that, he gave a call, and Orcs rushed up from below. This time, they bore no weapons, but, on their leader's signal, rushed at Faramir. They lifted him and hurled him into the wall. His left arm hit with a crack, followed by his leg. He hit the ground with a thud and they all rushed at him again.

At last, they tired of this, and resumed simply kicking and slashing at him with their claws. Then, all of a sudden, their leader gave a shout and they all rushed away to a corner of the room where one or two of them were already eating.

The smell was terrible, but it was food. Faramir hadn't had anything to eat in days. The Orcs laughed. They knew. This was more of their torture, Faramir realized, and it was by far the worst he had suffered, to be so close to food and unable to eat anything.

Their leader laughed. "Give the rat his supper, boys!" Faramir looked up to see a piece of stale bread, covered in green and grey mold. Beside it was a small, shallow bowl of what appeared to be water, such as one might give to a dog. It was anything but clean, and he was sure he could see things swimming in it. The very sight of the meal made him sick, but, still, it was food . . .

The Orcs had at last realized that he was starving to death, and wanted to keep him alive. Should he, perhaps, deny them that? He had to choose, he realized. He could refuse to eat, and thus assure that his death would come quickly. Or he could eat what they offered, in the hope of surviving long enough for an escape or a rescue. It all depended on one thing -- did he believe there was any chance of either in this land? If not, why not just let it all end . . .

No! A voice inside of him suddenly leapt up. There was still hope. There was always hope. There was always a chance.

Slowly, he slid his way over to where they had placed the food. All of the Orcs were watching, amused. Faramir didn't care. Why should he? Let them laugh.

He reached the bread first. Without his hands free, he tore a piece off in his teeth and eventually managed to swallow it. He tore off another bit, then another. The bread was dry, and made him thirsty. He edged over to the water and stuck his face down into the bowl. The water stung his cuts, and some splashed up into his forehead, causing it to burn with pain, but it cooled his throat, his mouth, his tongue, his lips, as he lapped it up like a dog.

At last, it was all gone. Faramir lay back, exhausted from the effort it had taken. He felt so weak, so tired. The Orcs' laughter rang in his ears.

"So," their leader sneered. "Still want to live, do you? Want some more, do you? Well, you'll get it!" And, with his signal, the Orcs came at him again.

* * *

Traveling north and east along the river he knew would lead to the Pass of Cirith Ungol, Aragorn paused for a moment. He had spotted some plants that looked good to eat and stopped to fill his bag. After he had gathered enough for his journey, and eaten his fill, he went on. 

The night was beautiful and starry, but in the distance, Aragorn could already see the shadow of Mordor. By this time the next night, he knew, he could be beyond Cirith Ungol and actually in that land.

He understood now why Boromir had been so intent on stopping at Minas Tirith to rest. It was certainly tempting to stay in this land, away from that darkness that was so threatening. Perhaps he could still go back, back to the White City . . .

To do what? To use the Ring against Sauron? To become the King who, like Isildur before him, had not been strong enough to destroy the Ring? No, he had to continue. He _would_ be strong enough. He had to be.

"The same blood flows in my veins," he heard himself say in his mind. "The same weakness." Never had he felt that weakness more strongly than here, in the sight of both Gondor and Mordor, both Light and Darkness, both Life and Death.

The fate of Middle-Earth now depended on the heir of the one who had left it in danger.

* * *

It was nighttime, and the stars shone overhead, when Pippin, Radagast, Sam, Mardril, and Mablung reached Minas Tirith. Radagast dismounted first, and led them in to see Denethor. 

Denethor was extremely surprised to see any Wizard there, but especially one he didn't recognize, but he hid it well. "Who are you?" he asked immediately.

"I am Radagast the Brown," answered the Wizard, who had instructed the others to allow him to speak first. "I bring news of your sons, Boromir and Faramir, and of doings in Rohan and at Isengard."

Denethor nodded. "Speak, then; such news is much needed in these times, Radagast the Brown."

"Indeed. Since you are obviously eager for news of your sons, I will give this first. Both of them are alive. They were captured by Saruman the White, but Isengard was attacked by the Nazgûl, the Black Riders. Faramir was taken prisoner by the Nazgûl and we can assume he has been taken to Mordor. Boromir escaped with this Hobbit, Peregrin Took of the Shire, and his companion, Meriadoc Brandybuck.

"They fled Isengard with Saruman into Fangorn Forest. That is where they found us. I was with Gandalf, who has returned from death and is now Gandalf the White. With us were Legolas, an Elf of Mirkwood, and Gimli and Thiris, Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. Saruman has agreed to aid us in our time of need.

"The others were on their way to Rohan, and have by now reached Edoras. If all goes well, they will persuade King Théoden and his men to ride to the aid of Gondor. Time is everything now. Sauron will wish to strike while he believes Gondor is weak. Help must come from elsewhere, my lord. Rohan's army must come in time."

There was silence for a moment as Denethor took in all that Radagast had told him. At last, he spoke. "And you believe that Théoden and his army will come?"

"Yes," Radagast answered without hesitation. "Boromir does, as well, or else he would not have stayed, but would have come himself to prepare your City for battle alone. He will come, my lord, and the army of Rohan will be with him."

Denethor turned to Mardril and Mablung. "Leave us." They left without any need for explanation. As soon as they were gone, Denethor looked intently at Radagast. "What of the Weapon of the Enemy? What of Isildur's Bane?"

The Wizard blinked. "You know of it?"

"Yes; I know more than you realize, you or Mithrandir. I have also heard tell of Isildur's Heir, that he came with the others, with Mithrandir. Yet you have said naught of him. Tell me. Does he, as well, ride with Théoden of Rohan to aid this City? Is this Mithrandir's plan?"

Pippin and Sam looked at each other, wondering what Radagast would say. At last, the Wizard spoke. "I have told you no lies, my lord. With your leave, I will answer the second question first. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, does not ride with Théoden of Rohan. He has already passed through this City unnoticed, under the name of Strider.

"As for Isildur's Bane, since you know of it, I can say this. In Rivendell, it was entrusted to a Halfling, such as the ones you see before you here. His name was Frodo Baggins. I see you know the name. He was on his way to Mordor to destroy It. I can now only guess that It is in the hands of this Ranger of whom we have spoken, on Its way to Mount Doom to be destroyed."

"Destroyed," Denethor repeated, half in anger, half in disbelief. "This is foolishness!"

"Perhaps. But it is done. For good or ill, the decision cannot be changed now."

Denethor glared at the Wizard, as if trying to decide if there was any way to undo this plan, to bring Aragorn, or Strider, or whoever he was, back to the City. At last, he shook his head. "Very well. So be it. We shall send reinforcements to Osgiliath, and prepare the City for battle. Make ready for war!"

* * *

Muahahahaha. Isn't that such a good place to leave you hanging:) 


	25. The Lines are Drawn

Disclaimer: It isn't mine. It still isn't mine. And no matter how many times I type it, it will still belong to Tolkien.

---

**Chapter Twenty-Five****  
The Lines are Drawn**

Huddled together, Sam and Pippin stared off to the east. Mardril and Mablung had been sent to Osgiliath, which they could see in the distance. It was growing darker, and the stars were beginning to show. Yet neither of them suggested sleep. They had both slept late that morning, feeling somewhat safe at last for the first time in a long while.

A man had brought their meals, and had bade them not wander, lest they get lost. Pippin had suggested several times that they should have a look about anyway, but Sam always refused. Other than these short conversations, neither Hobbit had spoken much. Pippin had tried at first to start a discussion, but as Sam continued to sow no interest, the younger Hobbit eventually gave up.

Nevertheless, he was about to try again when the door opened suddenly, and Radagast entered. Pippin brightened immediately. "Radagast! We haven't seen you all day!"

"Nor will you see me again for as long as our luck holds. I am leaving now to aid in the defense at Osgiliath. Denethor bade me give you this, Sam, before I go." He held out a small bottle. Sam looked inside. It as full of ashes.

Radagast nodded in answer to the Hobbit's unasked question. "Perhaps once you have returned to the Shire, you may find a place . . ."

Sam buried his face in Pippin's shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. Pippin wrapped his arms around his friend.

Radagast came over and laid a hand on each of the two. Sam looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks. "You're leavin'?"

Radagast nodded. "Denethor believes it will aid our deception. The Enemy will believe Osgiliath is truly our last defense if I am there. What Sauron doesn't know is that at least half our forces are to remain here in the City. If Osgiliath falls, Minas Tirith will still have a chance."

"I don't understand," Pippin admitted. "Why does it matter if you're there or not? You're not exactly the leader of Gondor's armies."

Radagast shook his head. "No, I am not, which is why Lord Denethor will be accompanying me to Osgiliath. He knows the importance of this plan. The Enemy must be caught off guard, or we will have no advantage."

"You'll be killed," Sam insisted. "You'll all be killed! With only half the army, the city won't hold! It's impossible!"

Radagast managed a smile. "Are you now an expert on Gondor's armies, Sam Gamgee? I realize you want to see no more death, but this is war."

"Then let me come."

Radagast looked at the Hobbit in surprise. "So you can be killed, as well, and join Frodo? Is that what you want?"

"So you admit it would mean death?"

"For you, yes. You are not a warrior, Samwise."

Sam lowered his gaze. "Neither was Mister Frodo."

---

It was quiet. Faramir slowly opened his eyes, allowing the silence to wash over him like a beautiful wave. But it was more than the silence; it was what it meant. He was alone.

He was lying on the ground, bound hand and foot, but he could move a little. He cast his gaze towards the window. Maybe, just maybe . . .

Fruitless? Well, if it was, he'd lose nothing. He had nothing left to lose. Slowly, inch by inch, he made his way towards the window.

Before long, he was out of breath from the effort, and his body gave way. This was impossible. The window seemed so far away. Inches looked like miles. It was too far . . .

Still, he caught his breath and forced his body to keep moving. Once he stopped going, he knew, he would be even more unable to start again. So he struggled on, his gaze fixed on the window.

With only about a meter left to go, his stomach gave a lurch, and he collapsed to the floor in a heap. The moldy bread he had eaten came pouring out onto the floor. Faramir coughed and sputtered, but somehow started moving again.

At last, at long last, he reached the wall. But the window was still a meter above him. After coming all this way, he realized, he hadn't the strength to pull himself up. His muscles simply would not move one inch further.

He had failed. This was the end. He was going to die here, in this tower, without one shred of hope. At long last, it had all been lost.

He would never return to Gondor. He would never see Boromir or his father again. Never again would he hear the sound of trumpets ringing loud and clear from the White Tower, or see the Tower of Ecthelion glistening in the sun. He wouldn't even see the sun again -- just this endless darkness.

He would never know the end of the story. If the Ring was, indeed, destroyed, he would be long dead by then. He would never see Minas Tirith as it once was, in its full glory and splendor. But he could hope that somehow, it would still come to be . . .

Faramir closed his eyes, and he could almost see it. Mordor was gone, and Minas Tirith stood proud and brilliant against the morning sky. The sun shone down and the sky was a beautiful shade of blue. Only a few white clouds danced in the sky. And there, at the Great Gates, his arms open wide to greet his brother, stood Boromir, with Denethor by his side, at last smiling proudly.

But behind them, in the distance, stood a man Faramir did not know. He was tall and dark, and his clothes were well worn, but on his head was a crown -- the Crown of Gondor.

Faramir stared at this man. He had never seen him before in his life; why should he now appear in his thoughts. Still, the very thought kindled a fire within the Steward's son. The King of Gondor! Could it be true? Was it just wishful thinking, or could it somehow be true?

Faramir opened his eyes, and the vision faded. All that was left of it was the hope, and that hope, however impossible it seemed, gave him the last bit of strength that he needed. Slowly, leaning against the wall, he got to his knees, and was at last able to stand unsteadily on his feet.

The window was certainly big enough, he realized. All he had to do was lean over the edge . . .

He didn't even have to do that. At that moment, his legs gave way, and he fell over backwards out the window. He was free! He'd done it!

Then everything went black.

---

"Take some rest," Èomer advised. "In the morning, we leave for Gondor." What few men were left in the room departed. Only Boromir remained by Èomer's side, watching the army that was gathering nearby. Èomer turned. "Will it be enough?"

"It will have to be," Boromir replied. "Time is growing short. And numbers are not everything. I would rather have a few good men at my side than thousands of cowards."

"As would I," Èomer nodded.

There was silence for a moment. Then Èomer sighed. "Is courage truly all that matters?"

"I would say it is the most important thing," Boromir replied. "Why do you ask?"

"My sister, Èowyn, wishes to ride with us."

Boromir nodded his understanding. "And you can no longer find the grounds to oppose her. She is a woman, it is true, but so is Thiris."

"Thiris is a Dwarf."

"And Èowyn a king's niece, who wishes, I suppose, to avenge her uncle's death."

Èomer nodded, obviously frustrated. "She will not leave the matter to me. And how can I deny her that?" He looked up. "She has the courage, Boromir, and, what's more, she has the ability. She has the skill of any of my riders."

"It sounds as if your mind is made up, then."

"My mind, but not my heart. She is my sister, Boromir. If I am killed in this battle, she is the Heir of Rohan. If we both go to war, our people would have no one. Would you have me do that?"

"I do not know," Boromir admitted. "I do know this, however. I know what both of you must be feeling. My brother. Your uncle. Both victims of the same evil. We are all asking the same questions. Could we have done anything? And what can we do to avenge the one we love?"

"He would not have had her put herself in danger."

"But she will. If you do not allow her, she will find some way to accompany us, or to follow us, unless you lock her in a tower and throw the key into the Anduin. She has the spirit of her fathers, though she is a woman, and she will not be kept here."

Èomer nodded slowly. "You are right. But I . . . How would I forgive myself if something were to happen to her?"

Boromir shook his head. "It would not be yourself you would have to forgive. It would be her."

---

"What did your little friends have to say?" Denethor asked, mounting his horse.

"They believe this is madness," Radagast admitted, following the Steward's lead. "They believe we will both be killed, and the City will fall with only half our forces to defend it."

"Your friends have some sense," Denethor remarked grimly. "That is certainly one thing that may happen, and a likely one."

"Then why take my advice?" Radagast asked. "Why ride to Osgiliath with me?"

Denethor looked up. "Because it was you who advised it. I do not know you well, but your reputation for honesty is well deserved, Radagast the Brown. You told me all that I wished to know, even of the Weapon of the Enemy, and though I did not enjoy what I heard, it was the truth, and for that I am grateful.

"And you were right about another thing, Radagast. Without leadership, Osgiliath will fall. Boromir is gone, and Faramir as good as dead. The people trust in my house to lead them, and I shall not fail them." He patted the sword at his side, his mail clinking beneath his clothes.

Then he smiled. "That you yourself ride to Osgiliath is also in your favor. You have no hidden plans, or else you would remain in the City and save yourself. Your purpose is the good of Middle-Earth, and that good depends now on our ability to hold Osgiliath until King Théoden and his armies arrive. Come! Let us depart!" He hesitated, then gave a loud cry. "To war!"

His cry echoed through the night, and Radagast's after it. Then the two of them rode out together, into the darkness.

---

Aragorn stared out into the darkness that seemed to engulf all of Mordor. Here the path split in two. To the left it led off into the mountains, to the Pass of Cirith Ungol. Straight in front of him was the Tower of Minas Morgul, dark and foreboding, and yet gleaming with a pale green light.

Aragorn knew he must turn left, and yet a strange presence seemed to call to him from Minas Morgul. No, he corrected himself. It was not calling him, but the Ring. Slowly, he tore his gaze from the tower and back to the Pass.

What awaited him up there? What strange terror dwelt in these mountains? Could it be any worse than the things he had already encountered? Should he, perhaps, continue straight along the path? Was an unknown danger worse than one he already knew well? He could feel his eyes turning unwillingly back to Minas Morgul.

Angry with himself, he tore his gaze away. When had he ever turned from an unknown peril to confront something more familiar? But this was not about his courage, some other part reminded him. Nor was this about proving to anyone what he _could_ do. It was about the Quest, and what he could do to best fulfill it.

He could feel his legs moving along the path to Minas Morgul. No! The Nazgûl would surely be drawn to the Ring! He could not allow himself to go that way! With the last of his remaining strength of will, he fought the Ring, fought Its desire to return to Its master, fought that tugging feeling inside his pocket, beckoning him on into Mordor. No!

Suddenly, his mind gave way. He could feel the power of the Ring taking over. It was as if he was watching, helplessly, powerless to do anything, as the Ring dragged him on, towards Minas Morgul.

---

Muahahahahaha. How's that for a cliffhanger? At least I'm pretty much done with the Faramir torture. Well, maybe not. Who knows? And what about those Hobbits:) We'll just have to wait and see.


	26. The Die is Cast

If you've read the books or seen the movie, you can figure out for yourself what I own and what I don't. If you haven't, I don't know why you're even reading this story. :)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
****The Die is Cast**

Aragorn watched in horror as he was pulled unwillingly closer and closer to Minas Morgul. It was as if the world was fading before his eyes, fading into darkness. His hand reached silently into his pocket. All he had to do was slip the Ring onto his finger, and it would all be over.

Suddenly, from high overhead, there came a loud screech. Aragorn's head jerked up. A Nazgûl! No! No, he couldn't let this happen! With the last bit of strength he had, Aragorn wrenched his mind from the Ring's grasp and leapt off the path, diving behind a huge boulder.

Here, in the safety of the rock, Aragorn huddled, alone and silent. Hesitantly, he brought his hand away from his pocket. That had been close, too close. If the Nazgûl had not come at just that second, he would have put the Ring on, and all would have been lost.

Aragorn shuddered, trying to calm his breathing. He had never felt so helpless as he had under the Ring's power. Slowly, his breathing and vision returned to normal, as the screams faded into the distance. But he knew the memory of that moment would last forever.

Slowly, cautiously, he peered out from behind his rock. Minas Morgul was so close now. To come out of hiding would mean danger, whether to go on or to go back to the Pass of Cirith Ungol. He could rest for a while first.

Presently, he heard Orc voices, coming from near the tower. "Here 'e is," cried one. "Little rat thought 'e could escape, did 'e?"

"Is 'e alive?" asked the other.

"Maybe not, but we should bring 'im back up anyway."

"'e don't look alive to me. I say we eat 'im right here and say 'e died in the fall."

That was too much for Aragorn. He didn't want to find out how that conversation would end. Quickly, quietly, he raced for the tower. Neither Orc saw him coming, too intent were they on studying the subject of their discussion. One Orc fell quickly, Aragorn's sword in its back, and the other had no sooner reached for a sword than its head tumbled to the ground.

Aragorn looked down. A man lay there, motionless, at the base of the tower. His arms and legs were bound and his body was torn with wounds, red with blood, and deep in his forehead was carved the symbol of the Red Eye.

As Aragorn watched, he could see the chest begin to rise and fall. He was alive. Aragorn looked around. If they stayed here, they would be found. He would have to risk moving the stranger. Aragorn bent down, gently scooped him up, and carried him back to the rock.

Aragorn set the stranger down gently, not quite sure of what to do. He wished he had some athelas, or at least enough clean cloth and water to tend his wounds. But he had nothing, nothing at all.

No. He still had his wits. He removed the cloak Galadriel had given him and placed it on the ground. Gently, he lifted the stranger onto it, trying uselessly to keep the dust from the ground out of his wounds. Then he cut the ropes that bound the stranger, carefully because they pressed tightly against his skin.

It was a wonder this man was even alive, Aragorn realized as he sat back against the rock. He looked so weak, so helpless, his body torn and bloody. And yet, there was something about him, some silent defiance that could be seen in his face. Somewhere inside him, behind the torture and the agony, there had been the strength to rise above, to continue, to live.

Aragorn managed a smile. Sometimes it took more courage to live than to die. This stranger had that kind of strength, the strength to live, to hope even in the midst of despair.

At last, the stranger groaned softly, and his right eye opened; his left was torn and bloody and swollen shut. He looked at Aragorn with a look of, the Ranger thought, recognition. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was too dry, and he only started coughing. Aragorn helped him sit up, and poured water into his mouth.

The stranger swallowed the water gratefully, as if it were the best thing he had ever tasted. "Thank you," he at last managed to say weakly, his voice hoarse and raspy, but the beginnings of a smile on his face.

Aragorn put an arm around the man's shoulders, supporting him. With the other hand, he reached into his pack and retrieved some lembas bread. He broke off a piece and handed it to the stranger. "Eat this. It will help you regain your strength."

The man nodded, and ate it, then leaned back against the rock, trying to breathe deeply, which was obviously painful. He rested his head in his right hand, trying in vain, Aragorn guessed, to ease a headache, or perhaps dizziness. His left arm hung limply at his side. Aragorn sat by him, glad to have a moment to rest.

The stranger noticed Aragorn studying his arm. "It will be all right," he assured him. "It happened some time ago, but has not had the chance to heal."

"Have you been here long?" Aragorn asked.

The stranger shook his head. "A few days, I would guess; there is no way to measure time here. And here those few days seem like years."

Aragorn nodded his understanding. "What is your name, my friend?"

"Faramir," the stranger answered. "Faramir of Gondor."

* * *

Sam slowly got out of bed, at last convinced that Pippin was sound asleep. He slipped his cloak on quietly and studied the room. Sting, Frodo's mithril shirt, and the jar of ashes lay near the door. Sam stooped and picked up Sting, the buckled it about his waist.

Slowly, careful not to let it creak, he opened the door. Ever so carefully, he squeezed through as soon as the opening was wide enough. At last on the other side, he decided to risk a little noise. "Take Mister Frodo home for me, Pippin," he whispered, and closed the door.

He hurried to the stables, where he found a lone man on duty. "Please, Sir," he stammered once the man had noticed him. "Radagast left something, something very important. I must take it to him, quickly."

The man nodded sleepily and helped Sam up onto a horse. Sam held on tightly, tears blurring his vision, as he set out for Osgiliath.

* * *

Aragorn tried hard to conceal his surprise. "Faramir? Your father told me you were at Isengard."

Faramir let that sink in for a moment before he spoke. "So it was a Palantir?"

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, and your father has one in his possession. I would guess that Sauron does, as well; it would explain the connection between Isengard and Mordor."

Faramir nodded weakly, as if this explained everything. "So Boromir used it, and alerted Sauron to our presence at Isengard."

Aragorn understood immediately. "And so you were brought here."

"Yes," Faramir agreed. "The Nazgûl came. The others escaped safely with Saruman, but I was on top of the tower. They found me." He leaned back against the rock, exhausted. His throat was hoarse and his head ached terribly. But still, he clung to the small bit of comfort that he had: Boromir and the Halflings were alive.

"Faramir?" Aragorn asked, startling him out of his thoughts. "How much did Boromir tell you? What do you know of the purpose of their journey?"

Faramir actually managed to smile weakly. "You were very careful to say 'their' and not 'our,' weren't you? What would you be doing in Mordor if you were not one of them? Yes, I know of the purpose of your Quest, but we should not speak of such things here."

Aragorn stared at Faramir with a new respect. "And you told nothing to Saruman, or to the servants of Sauron?"

Faramir shook his head. "Nothing."

"Then I do not fear to tell you this," Aragorn smiled, taking Faramir's hand in both of his. "It is I who now carry the thing which is the purpose of our Quest. Frodo, who bore it out of Rivendell, was killed by the Nazgûl when he and I arrived at Osgiliath. The others were separated from us on the River. But that is not all that would be of interest to you, I believe." He looked around, then, satisfied that they were truly alone, explained. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir and Heir to the Throne of Gondor. As the son of the Steward of Gondor, you have the right to know."

Faramir nodded, then said slowly, "That explains much. While I was in the tower, a vision came to me. I saw you, the crown of Gondor on your head, standing by the gates of Minas Tirith, restored to glory once more." He grasped Aragorn's hand. "I would be honored to accompany you on your journey, if you will have me."

"Faramir, where I am going, I cannot ask any to follow."

"I know this, and that is why I asked you." He paused, then, with a hint of a smile, added, "Where else would you have me go?"

Aragorn smiled as he realized he didn't have an answer to that. "Thank you, Faramir. I shall welcome your company."

* * *

Pippin woke early in the morning with an uneasy feeling. One look out the window revealed a dark, cloudy sky. He shivered. The darkness was growing. How long before it covered the whole land?

No, he mustn't think of that. He had to hold onto the light of hope, however dim it may seem. He turned to look in the other bed, expecting to see Sam fast asleep. Instead, the bed was empty, the sheets a little tossed, but not nearly enough to have been slept in all night.

Pippin's gaze flew to the door. Beside it lay Frodo's mithril shirt and the jar of ashes, but Sting was gone. Pippin dashed across the room and out the door. Through the streets he ran, calling for Sam, but already he knew it was useless. Sam was gone.

Pippin stared out into the distance, towards Osgiliath. That was where Sam had gone, he was sure. Not back to the Shire, or he would have taken everything, not only Sting.

The small Hobbit hesitated, unsure of what to do. He could follow Sam, but what good would it do? Would he be able to convince him to return? Or would he simply be in the way, especially if there was a battle? He didn't want to be in a battle, but the thought of leaving Sam to fight in one alone was unbearable, especially because Sam had called the battle a hopeless one.

He couldn't do it! He couldn't leave Sam alone! Frantic, he ran down street after street, looking for someone, anyone, who could help. The darkness seemed to be closing in around him, deafening people to his cries. At last, exhausted from running and from grief, he collapsed on the side of the street.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he felt a small hand tap him gently on the shoulder. "Are you all right?" a little girl asked quietly.

Pippin looked up, tears streaming down his face. "No! I'm all alone! Everyone I know has gone off to war and now Sam has gone to Osgiliath and I'm afraid he's going to die, but I have no way to get there and I don't know what to do!"

Somehow, the child understood him even through the tears. She put a small arm around the Hobbit's shoulder. "My father's at Osgiliath. I'm sure he'll protect your friend."

Pippin managed a small smile. It was just the right kind of innocent faith he'd needed to bring him out of this nightmare. "I'm sure he'll try. But I don't think my friend wants to be protected. He was very upset when he left, upset about something that had happened, something he couldn't have stopped." He looked around. "I wish I could find him. I should have told him, told him there was nothing he could have done, that getting himself killed won't solve anything, that . . . that . . ." He trailed off once more into tears.

"I could help you," the little girl said quietly. "I can show you to the stables. You could follow him to Osgiliath, if that's what you want to do."

Pippin nodded, and slowly stood up. "Take me there."

He followed the little girl down street after street, and for a moment the ever-growing darkness seemed a little less heavy, a little less threatening. They even made their way back to the Hobbits' room first to retrieve Pippin's sword, in case the time did come for that battle which he dreaded. But even the thought of battle was something of a relief. He was finally doing something. He wasn't sitting around waiting for people to handle this themselves. He had to do something. He had to fight.

At last, they came to the stables, and Pippin hastily explained what had happened. The man there remarked that he had, indeed, seen Sam, only a few hours past, and gave Pippin a horse readily. Clinging tightly to the horse's mane, but letting go for a moment with one hand to turn and look back at the little girl, Pippin rode off into the darkness.

* * *

Merry looked around from where he sat, in front of Boromir on a beautiful dark brown horse. Beside them were Legolas and Gimli on the left, and Saruman and Thiris on the right. In front of them rode Èomer, with Gandalf on one side and Èowyn on the other. Behind them was a sea of horses and riders, their armor glistening in the beautiful morning sun.

Merry looked up at Boromir, who smiled and patted the Hobbit on the shoulder. Merry's armor clinked, and he laughed nervously. This was it. He was going to war.

Boromir had smiled, but his mind was on only one thing: he was going home. At last, he was returning to Minas Tirith. But what would he find there? How much time could Radagast give them? How long would the City hold? For him, these three days would be three days of agonizing questions, of endless wondering. But at last they were on their way.

Èomer looked back, and Boromir's mood was obvious from his expression, even partly hidden behind a helmet. The King of Rohan drew his sword and gave a loud cry of, "To Gondor!" which was echoed again and again by the riders. Boromir smiled gratefully as they set out for Gondor, and war.

* * *

Pippin held on as tightly as he could as he raced towards the city in the distance. It seemed like days that he had been riding, and yet Osgiliath seemed no closer. When he looked back, however, he saw that Minas Tirith seemed terribly far away. He was in the open, vulnerable. Shivering, he held on tighter.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Osgiliath drew closer and closer. Finally, he reached the edge of the city. Realizing he had no one to help him dismount, he rode on. "Sam!" he called. "Sam! Sam, where are you?"

At last, he saw in the distance a familiar figure, robed in brown, a staff in his hand. Pippin's heart leapt. If he could not find Sam, he could at least tell Radagast that they were there. Surely the Wizard would be able to do something.

As he rode closer, he could see that beside Radagast was Denethor, and that neither of them looked happy. They appeared to be arguing in hushed tones, and Denethor's face was growing red. In his hand he held what Pippin knew to be a Palantir, and Radagast seemed to be quite upset that the Steward had brought it.

"Radagast!" Pippin called, and both figures turned towards him immediately in surprise. Radagast instantly dropped his quarrel with Denethor and hurried over to help the Hobbit off his horse.

The Wizard was silent, waiting for Pippin to explain. Pippin relaxed as he realized he himself had been waiting for someone to yell, "Fool of a Took," or something of that nature. Instead, there was only silence.

"It's Sam," Pippin explained, catching his breath. "I woke up and he was gone and the man in the stables said he came here."

Radagast's face grew pale. "Thank you for coming, Pippin. We will find Sam. But now, quickly, come with me. You should return to Minas Tirith." He turned to Denethor. "My lord, please, consider what I have said. It is dangerous to use this thing. You may already have alerted the Enemy to our plans."

"We wanted him to know that I was at Osgiliath," Denethor reasoned. "We wished him to believe this to be our only defense."

"But to reveal this to him yourself shows a confidence inconsistent with our deception. He may suspect the true reason for your presence here, and strike fast and hard. Remember that we are here not to attempt in vain to win this battle by our own devices, but to allow Rohan the opportunity to arrive in time to save more than a pile of rubble."

Radagast turned to lead Pippin away, but at that moment a cry rang through the air, followed by the whizzing of arrows and the clashing of swords. Radagast looked down, and Pippin could see that he was torn. He wanted to lead the Hobbit to safety, but he couldn't abandon Gondor's army. Pippin nodded his understanding and drew his sword.

The war had begun.

* * *

Muahahahahahaha. I realize I haven't updated this in forever, but I hope it was worth the wait. Now the war's finally begun, and poor Pippin's stuck in the middle of it. On the bright side, the page breaks decided to work again. :) I'll try to get the next chapter posted sooner.

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